Fantasy (Yet Another Foxy Romance Fanfic)
by anonwriter123
Summary: A semi-canon, psuedo-realistic take on the FNAF universe and a romance fanfiction between Foxy and an original character. Set in the 90's, this story deals with themes of hardship, curiosity, loss, and loneliness to name a few. Male/male. Not your standard fanfiction.
1. Author's Note

**This is not the fanfiction you are looking for.** While I have written quite a bit, I have never delved into the realm of fanfiction before now, and so this story can be expected to be methodical and relatively detailed. It will not be a quick read, and it will not grant instant satisfaction. In an effort to appeal to this audience, however, I have made an effort to keep things as concise as possible whilst remaining true to my style, and therefore the parts as released will be short and easily-consumed. This story deals with mature themes and has a horror aspect that many of you should be familiar with. There will be no sexual content of any kind.

Parts will be released on a weekly basis - every Sunday.

The image displayed is the work of vailwolf on DA.

As usual, all characters, the setting, and everything else related to Five Nights at Freddy's are owned by Scott Cawthon.


	2. Preview

I could only make out his silhouette, his ears lowered, arms dragging at his sides. My eyes froze on him, waiting for movement with curious dread, but he did not so much as twitch. I gulped in air, remembering at once that I hadn't breathed in some time, and took a timid step beyond the curtain, being sure to make no sound. My paces were short and calculated, pausing between each for tens of seconds as I watched the form warily. No movement. I grew closer.

Behind me, the curtain returned to its natural position, blocking out what little light there was and making my vision near impossible. Foolish; I should have had actually moved the damn thing across its beam, and I couldn't even begin to tease the idea of turning my back to rectify the mistake; I was cursed to wait for my eyes to eventually adjust with what little light passed between the floor and the linens. My heart slammed against my chest, my breathing inconsistent. Waiting next to the animatronic, nearly blind and so close to midnight, was not what I had intended, and the inaction proved destructive for my resolve.

As one sense faded another took its place, and the subtle sounds of the environment began to fill my head. I listened in fright, expecting at any moment to hear the horrible noise of metallic feet scraping against the concrete. There were none; only the quiet plopping of soft rain against the roof and various other natural happenings met my ears. And none of those creepy sounds from the previous nights, either. My breath settled slightly with a sigh. My vision had begun to reform in what capacity it could. The figure, less than a foot away from me, had become highlighted against the backdrop again, the blanket resting on a broad shoulder as I had left it.

'Foxy?' I muttered out before I could realize precisely what I was doing. My chest jolted, my face froze. My brain told me I had signed my doom – awakened the sleeping dragon, as it were. The notion urged me to run but my heart protested in defiance, pressing me off the logical path. Stupid, terrified... it didn't matter so long as the compulsion remained to understand why I was even still alive, and that was ignoring the desire to find the source of the feeling tumbling inside of me. And courage was the only way to illuminate it. I slammed my eyes shut, awaiting the fox's inevitable reaction.

Moments passed. I peeked through my lashes and stared down the machine before me. No movement, no noise. I let out a sigh, partly at my own silliness. Regardless of all that had happened I was still talking to only a piece of metal. That was what he was, of course. My considerations went to the night before and those before it, once more wondering if I was in some sort of dream world. Surely there was no possible way for my twisted nightmare to be real. But I pushed the ideas away, and the day's events and motivators came back to me – heart over mind, instinct over logic. I shouldn't think. I couldn't rationalize it. I was stuck, and I had to see it through. And even if I was crazy or about to die, no one was there to judge me. I had no reason not to continue.

'Foxy,' I gulped, my voice wavering, 'I-I wanted you to know...' I paused, considering my words. If then was to be different – if he truly could hear me – I had to be careful; I didn't want to end up upsetting something that could twist me half like a child would a twig, nor did I want to hurt my friend... What ever I was to say, it needed to be something honest, something unassuming.

'Just... thank you. Thank you for saving me,' I cooed.


	3. I

_The following will be an account of events concerning my time at Freddy Fazbear's Pizzeria. A time which both haunts me and fills my mind with fond memories. I cannot for certain say how those events will shape my future, but I miss them. If there is one thing that I have learned, it is that there is a good deal more mystery and complexity to the world than any one of us realize. And that meaning, trust, and love can come out of the most inexplicably strange and horrifyingly unfortunate ordeals._

_I write this in the hopes that one day, when my memory is wilted and incomplete, I may look back on these words with fond eyes and remember the months which changed my life. Perhaps, even, so that the tragedy of what took place will not be amiss in history. Anyone who eventually reads this will probably think me deranged, insane, or worse. But even if no one believes me, I have to write this. I cannot stomach the thought of letting them – letting __him__ – __fade into nothing. And so he won't._

* * *

In a truly pathetic fashion, I paced the length of the office, mumbling various slurs and curses directed more at myself than the woman who kept me waiting. Everyone made mistakes, but the way things had been going in the last few months it appeared as if a divine entity itself had taken personal interest in my becoming a particularly definitive failure. It was my worst fear, one that had plagued me in my adolescence and had remained to haunt me in adult mundanity. Simple chance. The fear that everything you held close would come crashing apart in a moment. A decent career, a loving girlfriend, a stable home – all ripped away from me by sheer, uncontrollable randomness. I stopped, placing a palm on one of the yellowish, brightly-lit tiled walls; my neck lowered as I groaned loudly.

Muttering another curse, I shook my head in frustration. This place was depressing, covered in its off-hued light, filled with boxes of random overstock so much as to barely allow room for movement. A single chair, of course, because even when coming back there to do legitimate work only the manager deserved a seat. The rest got the floor. And then there was that smell that oozed out of the drainage for the mops. I snorted, the familiar scent filling my nostrils once again.

The door creaked open, making way for the gaunt framework of the elderly woman-in-charge. She squeezed in, shutting the door with a slam before moving to take her seat. I loomed above her, watching as she shuffled through the papers in her hands, giving me no mind that I was even there. My brows raised, annoyed and impatient, as I listened to the whisping of the parchments, her gaze flicking across one swiftly before turning to another to do the same.

'So then,' she started in her usual, obnoxious attitude, refusing to look up at me, 'I'm sure you know why I asked you to come in here,' Of course I did. And she didn't need to be a dick about it.

'Yeah,' I nodded solemnly. The manager remained silent for a few moments, then finally stopped fiddling with the paperwork and looked up at me.

'Now, Armin, I like you, but the way things have been going I can't trust you around customers, let alone your fellow coworkers.' She stared at me, judging, waiting for a response. I was always quick to react, so at least I had that going for me.

'I know I haven't been the best I can be, but there's a lot going on. I'm trying, I promise it will get better,' I spoke confidently, rather proud of my answer. It was all true of course, even the promise; I'd been rather depressed ever since things had gone to shit.

Her reaction made my stomach drop. She shook her head, 'No, it won't. And at this rate, and with the budget concerns, I don't think I can have you on anymore.' I gulped, my eyes widening, my confidence murdered.

'But... I need this. Look, I'm sorry for the way I've acted,' I shot out, 'And my being late. I just... I can't lose this job. I'm already behind on rent. I've always taken any shifts you've given me,' I pleaded. She simply sighed.

'I've already made my decision,' she said sadly. Whether it was an act or not I couldn't tell. 'I just can't give you any more chances, Armin. I'm sorry, but I need your uniform.'

So that was it? Unbelievable. It was as if she had no remorse at all. I said no more, looking down as I unbuttoned my ridiculous work shirt and handed it to her.

'Thank you,' I heard in a remarkably pleased tone. I simply nodded in an attempt to contain my anger. I wanted nothing more to do with that place, and if I stood there a moment longer I would be inclined to sock her in the face, which was probably a bad idea. I reached for the doorknob, swinging it open and turning to walk into the restaurant. 'Good luck,' I heard, as I shut it behind me.

Fucking bitch. Just another nail in the coffin as my life was concerned. So what if I hadn't been the perfect employee? Everyone goes through hard times, everyone makes mistakes. The least she could have done was not work me for a goddamn shift before giving me the boot. It was always all about the money.

I stalked out into the parking lot, nearly getting smashed into by some ditzy soccer mom in the process. My thoughts went to the immediate future, and the newfound freedom I had. For one reason or another, it wasn't all that enticing, but maybe that was just the depression speaking. My feet arrived at my car; the door screeched open and I slid in, slamming it shut to sit in the relative quiet. I stared at the steering wheel, my hands pushed into my forehead. The notion was there – a dreadful whisper. If I couldn't find another job soon – very soon – then I'd be out on the street. Homeless. And that, to me, was novel. I couldn't have fathomed the prospect at any time in my life, let alone just months ago, and it terrified me to my core. I yearned for the good times again. Things were so much simpler.

The town I lived in was not an image of prosperity. Hell, the whole state wasn't. The economy was falling apart for one reason or another – I didn't care why. All I knew was that things were becoming rough, and that I was feeling the vibrations of panic in my own world. I'd had many fantasies of moving far away or living another life lately, but they were only that. I had no money, of course, and absolutely none of the knowledge to achieve such things. There was no escaping it, no cheating the system.

I sighed. No good sitting there doing nothing, either. I turned my key to the ignition and started off home.

I yawned as I opened the door to my apartment, flipping the light on. It was dusk by that point. I always hated second-shift jobs, but it was the only one I could find back when I was looking. The only place that would take me, that was. Guessed I'd have to start searching again, but I wasn't looking forward to it. I'd go and do some legwork early tomorrow, but for now I figured I'd just wind down. My mind was throbbing and full of negativity, and despite how things were I knew that was never a good perspective to have.

The apartment was anything but welcoming; it was barely adorned. Sure, I had lived here only since I was kicked out of the house my girlfriend and I had shared, but even the most minimalistic of college students would have had a bit more than what I did. Besides a recliner and old-ass TV, the living room was barren, and my bedroom didn't have anything more than a lonely mattress resting on the floor. My pride and joy – the only thing of real luxury in that hole – was the pile of novels resting against the chair. I had a bunch of favorites, but I mostly browsed through borrowed library books those days.

I wandered over to the kitchen, shedding my shirt and pants in the process; there wasn't anyone to impress, there. Opening the fridge, I did what most people do – one of those odd things that no one talked about yet everyone did – and stared for awhile. Maybe something appealing would appear. Probably not. Eventually, I grabbed some deli meat, put together a sandwich, and plopped down onto my chair, figuring I'd browse the tube.

The night went by quickly. Boring news and old 70's shows. Not that I disliked 70's stuff, but I wasn't really in the mood. I couldn't stop thinking about the situation I was in. If things didn't work out, and I couldn't find a job (which was a real possibility) there was always the option of moving back in with my father. It wasn't a fond proposition, but I wagered it was better than ending up on the street. My father and I had never really gotten along, and ever since my mother had left him he'd become a true alcoholic, having every waking moment be in the pursuit of inebriation. He'd lived a few hours away and we hadn't talked in months, mostly due to him always being wasted. I didn't actually know if he'd even let me move back in.

Eventually, the hour grew late. The TV had been long-since turned off and a book had taken its place. My eyes had grown heavy, and so with nothing better to do I plodded over to bed. The next few days were going to be exhausting. I had about a month until the next rent was due, and so I needed something within the next two weeks. It was going to be the colloquial race against time; as sleep took me, I just hoped I would win.


	4. II

_I always loved going to that place. Back then we didn't have much in the way of entertainment outside of playing silly little games like cops and robbers and riding our bikes around the neighborhood. I was friends with a kid my age around that time, and each weekend when I went over to his place his sister, he, and I would practically beg his parents to take us. Arcades were just becoming a thing, and we all found it fascinating to stand around mashing our tiny fists into the buttons and gobbling away at our parents' spare change to see if we could get to the next addictive level. Plus there was pizza, and what kid didn't love that? _

_To be honest I was never a big fan of the stage shows. The things just plain freaked me out when I was young, what with their huge, oogly eyes and downright unnatural body language. They were never much of an issue, though, as I was often too consumed by the game room or the various other activities going on to give much of a care to sit and watch. Sure, the animatronics were a curiosity to my young brain, but not enough so to actually hold my attention or power through their creepy portrayal._

_It was always such a nice feeling, I remember, going back to my friend's house afterwards. Usually it was late at night and we'd be shepherded off to bed, but sometimes we got to stay up and watch a movie or something. And you know how kids are, so even if we weren't blessed with parental approval we'd still lay in our beds and talk amongst the three of us about our favorite parts of the day. That was the thing, really – the feeling of it all. Maybe nostalgia blinds me, looking back, but I can relate it, strangely enough, to the feeling of afterglow. __Comfort was a down blanket that permeated the air__, and it just felt like everything was right in those days. I think childhood often feels like that._

_But we usually didn't get to go, his parents thinking it best either for their wallets or our well-being that we instead wander off and do our own thing on our own time. My parents, on the other hand, only took me every once in awhile, and it was always a different feeling. Besides them being more strict, the entire experience felt constrained and stressed. And they always made me sit with them and watch the stage show as if arcade games were some sort of brain-numbing activity inherently evil to children. It was altogether bittersweet when they brought me, but I do have to give them thanks for one reason, I suppose. If they hadn't forced me into watching it I wouldn't have gotten used to staring at the animatronics, and I wouldn't have noticed the things that I did._

* * *

I had never been one for many friends. Others my age would have those flourishing social circles the movies always seemed to portray, but my company had consisted of my coworkers alone. For one reason or another, I was always endlessly towards isolation; it wasn't because of depression or anxiety or any of that fancy-schmancy stuff, but rather simply the feeling of it not being enough. There was always so much more to be had in stories and nature than there was in my loud-mouthed human companions, and so I avoided them as best as I could. That wasn't to say I was a complete recluse, of course. I had had my girlfriend, and our relationship had taken us out and about quite frequently, and of the coworkers I had actually made friendly with... well, we did as guys often would and bar hopped and stuff. But once I had lost my job, my contact with them grew infrequent and eventually faded altogether. I wasn't sure if that was because of the emotional hardships I was going through or just because of the nature of relationships as a whole, but either way I soon found myself in a place I was familiar with from my youth – complete separation. I couldn't say I disliked it. I mean, I did miss having someone to share my time with, but I had no trouble adjusting when life called for it, and for the most part enjoyed myself with my books and various TV soaps. Everything was simpler alone, that was for sure.

Unfortunately, having no real contacts had made the more tangible aspects of living increasingly difficult. There were plenty of times I had fallen victim to the ever-present bad fortune and didn't have anyone to fall back on. Things as simple as getting a ride home when my junker broke down became a tremendous challenge, and over time the reality of being helpless should ever something terrible occur compounded on my depression like a vice on my brain.

I should probably note that I had never actually been diagnosed with the thing. I guess it was just my way of addressing the permanent falling feeling that pervaded my heart. And the sickness. Sometimes I'd just sit in the bathroom – or bathtub, whichever really – and stare for hours. The ceramic called to me in a way, as weird as that sounded. I mean, I would go into there initially because something had floated into my mind driving me to nausea, but once I was actually inside the room it went away. It was calming, really. There was something about the claustrophobic, bright atmosphere that let my mind wander to things other than the immediate threat of my existence. Sometimes I would pretend that beyond the white-tiled walls there was just empty space; I'd pretend that money and bills didn't exist, that people didn't exist, that the entire world was gone and that if I opened the door I'd just plunge into nothingness. But when I inevitably did open that door, each time there was just boring carpet.

Anyway, not having people around sucked for practical purposes. At a moment like that, where I was on my last rope in terms of even eating, it would have been quite beneficial to have some friends to ask of a favor or two. But I was alone, and, save for that dreaded call, entirely without hope.

My adventures into the wild of the job market hadn't proved fruitful. For the past week I had trolled on foot and by car to every strip mall, fast food joint, and delivery place I knew between cvilization and nowhere. I had been forced by lack of option to move up from blue collar work to the ever-elusive white collar career, and that held very few prospects from even fewer actual openings. As always, I had tried first at finding a position in my area of expertise, but as predicted the availabilities were fleeting and with my knowledge being as niche as it was, I found nothing. And so I was left to pace, walking to and fro throughout the sidewalks of my small town, asking around where I could to see if there was even a newspaper-delivery gig hiring.

Not that it would have helped, really. Like I'd mentioned, the economy was faltering at best, and while the jobs were disappearing the rent prices certainly were not. The little shack I 'owned' had cost me almost what my two paychecks allotted at my now-previous job, albeit it was only minimum wage. But there wasn't a whole lot of housing around, so I had to take what I could get, even if it was atrociously overpriced for what was actually provided. At my old place I had had an abundance of random odds and ends, and the house itself couldn't've been considered anything less than giant. I chuckled to myself as I walked – after all, there wouldn't have even been a point to owning something so extravagant as a poor man. But that was a different time, and a different town.

It was a pleasant day at least. It was the kind of afternoon about which all those poets liked to romanticize so ferociously. Unless you were Poe or someone else oppressively depressing, that was. The sky was a sort of turquoise – the bright, shimmering blue you'd get in the high of summer when the sun was unblemished by clouds or other such things. I'd occasionally stop to sit on the grass adjacent the concrete (looking like some kind of weirdo, if there were anyone to see) just to take all of it in. We wouldn't get a whole lot of good weather where I lived, and so it was always appreciable to feel a warm breeze on your skin. I could've done without the traffic of course, but that was unavoidable, with the sense of life in the town being a continual reminder of how many people had it better off than I did.

Eventually, I had hit all the places I had wanted to check, and had shifted enough resumes through the hands of uncomfortable-looking secretaries to the extent that I called it a day, and had begun heading home. Or at least so I had planned, instead stopping by a McDonald's for a cola and heading out into the country for a drive. There was always something about driving out into the middle of nowhere, to me. It was probably simpler why I enjoyed it than I sometimes made it seem, but the heat of the day piercing through the windshield and the rush of the passing cornfields always brought a certain, special peace to my heart.

A few hours out and then back again, I pulled off the main highway and continued down some random dirt path I had never crossed into before; I bumped along it for some time, but eventually I stopped the car to go on foot and explore a shadowed hill in the distance. It wasn't far off from the path and stood out against the fields so well it almost seemed to be calling to me; the rise was coated in the thick, viridescent grass of a verdant season and overlooked by a scraggly, ancient-looking tree. I figured it was quite the sight, and at the very least a prime place to let my mind wander to things not so immediately threatening.

My hypothesis was correct, for upon reaching the hill's crest and squatting down against the bark of the old oak, I felt a deep relief come over me. The sun was just then making its way under the horizon, and I could see for what must have been miles the sprawling woods and fields of the country, all coated in the sun's warm glamor. Gazing on the scene, I thought of things both imaginary and real – of what my life could have been had certain circumstances resulted differently. I thought of the future, but not of fear, and instead rather inspirational ideas as a whole. In those rather silly fantasies I imagined where I sat to be a duly romantic location for a future date... for some petite, blue-eyed girl all prettied up in a flowing silk dress. I could hold her there, her head on my chest, as I told her stories of the various different worlds and peoples I throughout my life had absorbed from my books. And she'd look up, watching me, and simply smile. And everything would be all right.

I wouldn't say it was often that I went out to relax somewhere isolated from society such as that, but all of the times and places I had escaped from my town held nothing in comparison to the presence of that hill. I basked for awhile, both in the final glimmers of twilight and my own fascinations. For some reason or another, on that hill, at that moment, I was able to look past the irony of it all, and it gave me motivation and strength. The sun faded and the fields grew quiet as the wind left them, the world becoming dark. I stood, a slight grin plastered on my face. I only had a week left. There wasn't anything I could do more than what I had already been doing. But I always had that call, and I wasn't afraid anymore. If I got no word from the positions I had applied for in a day or two, I'd ring my father up and explain the situation. I was confident now that he'd help me out. After all, there was still so much to see in the world, and so many more possibilities to explore.

The next morning I found myself staring in the mirror, inspecting my own profile. My motivation had dwindled some from the evening before, and I once again observed my grotesque state with mild annoyance. It was self-inflicted of course, and no doubt the cause of many a shifting eyeball when turning in applications, but I still couldn't funnel the energy into actually making myself appear more presentable. My hair was unkempt and long in need of a cut, spraying out at various angles in an effort to escape my scalp. My facial growths – and indeed they were growths – was equally as obscene, the stubble having long since become a full-faced beard-in-training. I figured all I'd need were some ducktaped, round-eyed glasses and the sight of my face alone would have probably been enough to have most parents shooing their kids along to make way for the passing predator. And my dress wasn't much better, being the usual assortment of boring blue jeans and drab-colored T-shirts. At least my physicality wasn't the worst in the world; I was skinny, sure, but I wasn't too tall or short, and I didn't have any strange portrusions on my body or anything else of unusual nature. I was just a sad man, living a life alone.

I shook my head. Again with those thoughts, though I should have expected the morning to bring such negativities to mind. I freshened up, brushing my teeth and bathing before making my way outside to catch some of the crisp morning air. It was six A.M., and the sun had barely peeked its grin over the Earth. I yawned, hoping no one would notice me, standing there looking out across the parking lot like a moron; I internally reminded myself of the annoying habit of sleeping too little. A product of my high school years, probably, when I hadn't had the the weights of adulthood to battle with in the waking world.

I stepped back inside the apartment, moving to sit on the armchair and pick up where I had left off in my current novel. I'd have to finish my readings soon if I was going to move back in with my father; it was only on loan, after all. That particular story dealt with the common fantasy expressions of good and evil and the quest for relics and blah, blah, blah. I wasn't terribly interested in it, but I did have a stubbornness about me that assured that whatever I started I did see through to the end. I was more interested in the realistic fictions, usually – the stories of common people with boring lives thrown into turmoil over who-knew-what; I'd say it were because of my own position in life right then, but I had always taken a preference to such genres from my youth, and it was precisely my situation why I had been avoiding them. Our library hadn't many options left for me, however, and so I would take what I could get. And then there was romance. I always was a romantic, and had been terribly affectionate with my girlfriend, much to many onlookers' dismays. So, of course I liked those kinds of books, but, go figure, I couldn't bear to read them anymore, either.

Fantasy or romance, there was always so much to be gleaned from those stories, even if they looked shallow at first. It never mattered the book, really. Sometimes the lessons were as simple as putting yourself in another's shoes, and bearing witness to all the triumphs and agonies that came with their life. Other times it was even more insightful, dealing with morals on a global scale – poverty, happiness, and war, and all the others. The meaning of life often showed its ugly face, as well. But I had to admit, despite all of those deeper things written between the lines, my true love remained in simplicity – that there was another world in which I could live in, another life of which to enjoy. I supposed it was always only escapism that drew me in, but I couldn't give that particular vice up for the world.

A few hours passed, and at length I decided to get off my ass and give the whole job search another shot, shambling out to my car and heading into town. Of course, I didn't really know where to go, and so for a good while I simply drove around in a mindless state. And there really wasn't much more to that day. I stopped at the places I had applied at over the last week, checking in with management and getting answers anywhere from oblivious to outright rejection, each one weighing on my soul a little more as I went. At some point I checked into a local park and had a stroll, but honestly, the day was altogether uneventful and expectedly disappointing.

Before evening I had returned home and sifted through the voicemails that had accrued over the day's time. Except there weren't any to sift through, so that was a rather pointless endeavor. I had picked up some ice cream from a grocery store – a devil's treat indeed, with the budget that I was on – and so figured I'd mull my thoughts over as I sat to engorge on it before the TV, of which I left on static; some people found the noise to be infuriating or, even more, disturbing, but to me there was a peculiar solace to be taken in all of the white noise. Despite its unnatural electronic chime, I found it reminiscent of the harsh smacking of rainfall against the pavement, and I always did enjoy storms.

Chocolate chip cookie dough. The choice was obvious, as what man didn't love a bit of sweet now and then? It flooded my senses; I hadn't had chocolate of any sort for a good while because of how things had been going, and for so long had missed my beloved ice cream. I figured now was as good a time as ever to splurge. I still had a few days until the deadline of when it wouldn't even matter if I found a job, and I'd still be in debt up to my neck either way, and so if I was going to go out I was at least going to enjoy the last few days of civilization. That was assuming I couldn't convince my father to let me stay with him. I turned my gaze onto the landline across the room, a spoon ungraciously portruding from my face. I was not looking forward to this. I knew I had to do it, but what courage I had from the night before was utterly diminished when faced by the reality of the action. I struggled with myself, searching for any possible loophole over and over again, but found none. The likelihood that I would get an interview by then was near nil. Or at least, that was how it felt. Even if I ever had my application accepted that didn't mean I'd make it through the entire selection process. I grumbled, removed the spoon from my lips, and placed it back into the tub. Maybe I didn't even want to find another job. I had figured my active searching represented my intent well enough, but when things got tough (tougher, really) I imagined myself at a sparkling-new slave colony and almost groaned. It was so much easier to give up. So much easier.

I stood up, moving to the kitchen and placing the tub back inside its empty abode in the freezer. I wasn't required to vacate at the end of the week; there was always the ability to just bum it for as long as I could and then finally make the call. But there was no knowing the answer I'd get from my father, and what with my sudden thoughts on surrender I figured procrastination was an entirely terrible idea. It was settled then, and so to receive good news or bad, I turned to the phone resting on the kitchen counter. I stared at it for a moment, trying to calm the racing anxiety in my chest. Anxiety never listened to reason, though, and so in a flash I reached out, picked the handset up, and dialed the number. I shoved the receiver to my ear, pressing it into my skull in an effort to somehow influence the tides of fate.

One ring, two rings...

''Ello?' a voice nearly shouted at me, quickly breaking into a juicy cough. I cringed.

'Uh... hey... it's me,' I replied, not entirely knowing what to say.

'Aoh, hey!' the voice squealed, entirely slurred and a little too excited. It did nothing to rescind my anxiety, and in fact only increased it. Of course he had to be drunk.

'Yeah... yeah, so, uh, how are you?' I figured it was best to start with pleasantries before damning myself.

'I'm-' he hiccuped, 'I'm doin' okay, 'ya know. But whadda 'bout you? It's been long since I 'eard from 'ya, s-son!' I supposed it had been.

'I'm all right, I guess,' I stammered out. What a stupid thing to say.

''Ya still... 'ya still with that b-broad of a gerl?, he continued in his delirious state, 'She were always real pretty...' He hiccuped again before spasming into a coughing fit that would've made a heavy smoker proud, but did no such justice for my ears.

'I...' Had he really just said that? I had already spoke to him multiple times about us having split up, but a broad? His tone was downright disgusting. But then again, he was drunk. 'I'm not with her anymore, dad,' I said in annoyance, not that he'd catch on anyway.

'Aw... jeez, what 'appened?' The empathetic tone was self-serving.

'I'll... explain it some other time. Listen-'

''Ya still yer job at the... what did 'ya did again?' He was thoroughly fucked.

'Programming,' I sighed, 'but I-'

'Oh! 'Eah! Pergamming... 'ell, 'ya got that right. Never did think for that stuff... crazy...' Never did think. Yeah. Although I figured he had a point with that one. I hadn't told him I had lost the position.

'No,' I nearly screamed, 'no, I don't. And if you could listen for second, I really gotta tell you some-' He sneezed loudly as I recoiled from the handset. He always had this terrible habit of sneezing over and over, and so I kept my distance for the moment, impatient for the onslaught of repulsive sounds to subside. My anxiety was gone, replaced with the more forefront frustration that hearing his voice and all accompanying noises had wrought. I had hoped, in vain, that he wouldn't be intoxicated.

'I have to tell you something,' I finished after realizing the silence.

'Well what then, 'ust say it?'

I paused, considering my words. 'Things have gotten rough. Don't know else to tell you, so I guess... well, I've been hopping from job to job and now I've lost the last one I had and I can't find another, so I think... I'm... gonna get evicted at the end of the month. I- I was wondering if you could help.' I gulped. This was it.

'Sorry 'un, but if you're askin' fer money I don't got none. I 'on't got none!' he repeated, 'Things have been tight here, 'ya know.' He then let out a repulsive giggle, though whether at himself or me I couldn't know. 'It's... why... I've 'een drinkin' so much! 'Ya know?' I imagined him on the other end, smiling in proud delight at his infallible justification.

'Well... I was more thinking along the lines of moving back in,' I continued, ignoring the statement. I never figured he'd lend me cash – that was too useful for booze.

'Huh,' was his reply, followed by more random coughing. I gritted my teeth, the lack of significant response only being a bad omen to my mind. 'Well... awh...' My father dragged the vowel out to its death. ''Ell, heck, 'y not?' he chuckled, 'could be li-like old times, 'ather and son!' I cringed at the almost-incoherent words, but then became immediately elated upon realization.

'U-uh... yeah, sweet!' I responded in false enthusiasm masked by my relief. 'So... could we use your truck to move my things? I can't fit the furniture into the car.'

'S-sure thing, whatever. Awh... I 'an't wait. Oh!,' he yelled, blasting my ears again, 'there's lotta opportunities 'ere for... kids yer age, 'ere. Armin. Armin... could... lotta opportunities... yer gonna love it here...' He trailed off. I ignored the belittlement as best I could, urging myself forward for the valuable information before he inevitably fell asleep.

'Yeah, I'm sure. Listen, so, do you think you can stop by some time Monday?' A few seconds passed in silence before I heard what I imagined to be him jolting awake.

''Omorrow?' He inquired.

'Uh, no. Monday. The day after tomorrow.'

'Oh sure... sure... 'ey, I'm 'onna... head to bed. 'Ive me a tall tomorrow, 'kay? Was nice talkin' to ya-'

I heard the click of the call ending, cutting off whatever else he had to say. I continued to stand there, slightly confused as to what exactly had transpired, but eventually placed the handset down and went back to my chair. I'd probably end up having to do just what he said and call him tomorrow, if only to refresh his memory on what was happening. Despite the strange conversation and the uneasy feeling in my stomach that came with speaking to him, I was rather at ease. I knew, even if he'd forget, that he'd hold to his word, and that in two days time I'd be up and out of my apartment. I still didn't know exactly what that meant, but at least I wouldn't have to worry about rent and food for awhile, though I would have his alcoholism to contend with. It wasn't the best solution in the whole world, but it was certainly doable. Doable was enough at the moment, and soon I'd be a few hours North, in a proper city teeming with work, opportunity, and perhaps even a bit of surprise.


	5. III

_I should probably mention what exactly my childhood was like. It wasn't always as unfortunate as I may make it out to be. I mean, I didn't get to see my parents often and I didn't have many friends other than the ones previously described, but it wasn't so bad. I was always a fan of stories, even before I could read, and when alone I would play out in my head various worlds and characters and so on with even the most menial of tools. One of my favorite things to do was to sit there with tiny paper balls and move them around, having colored them in marker to signify their different roles. I never had a bunch of toys, and action figures and the like were too stilted for my tastes. So I'd just use my ripped-up parchment playthings and pretend they were something more than what they looked._

_And boy, was I an adventurer back then. These days I don't get out much, but I absolutely adored wandering off into the woods and riding around town on my bike as a kid. I suppose I had a rather normal childhood, all things considered. Still, I wasn't as sociable as I perhaps should have been, and that facet seems to have followed me into today._

_There wasn't ever much to do in the woods. I'd just look at all the small things everyone else missed – the various insects on the leaves, the linings in the bark, or even the way the twigs and other dead things made up the floor of the forest. And it all always had this sense of mystery, too, that I seemed to be obsessed with. When I grew older – in my teenaged years – and my parents were either trusting or apathetic enough to let me out on my own past dark, I'd go out with a flashlight and stroll around amongst the trees. It was terrifying, I admit... I think a lot of people don't say they're still afraid of the dark when they're older, but I am. Can't tell you why; I've never had a bad experience out there at night, but there was always that feeling of something lurking around the corner._

_The stars, though, were why I really went out there. Along with seeing how long I could hold out against my fears, there was always the deeply rewarding and proverbial light at the end of the tunnel in the form of an unhindered glimpse at the night sky. If you've never been out into the woods after dark you should certainly do so, if just for that sight. Better still if you're alone. It's simply so peaceful. I think there's a lot to be said in nature and its reflections on humanity. Sure, it can all seem horrifying at first, but sometimes there is goodness to be found in the depths given a bit of bravery._

Monday had come swiftly. I had barely managed to muster up the motivation for the dull tasks of canceling my various utilities and returning my books and all those other things that come with moving. I had always hated the process, but I did have the benefit of not having to suffer through multiple journeys of junk, thanks of course to my limited appropriations. All was well, though, when the time to leave arrived; the electric company hadn't put up a huge fit as for my massive amount of debt, the rental management were more than glad to see me gone, and, surprisingly, my father had somehow remembered what he had agreed to. That was both a blessing and a burden, in that while he did indeed keep to his word he certainly wasn't amused by the fact that he had given it in the first place.

Regardless, we had loaded my stuff up into his truck and had begun the three-hour trip to his place. My father had been late, of course, so it had been approaching noon by the time we had gotten on the road, but it wasn't as if I had a schedule to keep. My mind was given no such leisure, however, and I was burdened instead with more than enough time to ponder on things as I watched the pavement pass endlessly below me. It wouldn't be fun living with him, that was for sure, and having judged my father's demeanor from our meeting again, it wasn't going to be an easy experience, either. He wasn't drunk presently, at least, so I had that going for me, but I figured when we got home and settled the first thing he'd do would be to reach for a bottle of rum. He was to be home all day, having taken the time off to help me adjust to my new environment, though there wasn't much to be said for that task.

After what seemed to be much longer than a few hours, I followed him off the interstate and onto the busiest street I had seen for years. I was back in the city, and the cramped lanes filled with frustrated drivers did a lot to remind me of that. We peeled off as soon as we could onto some side street, then onto another, and finally into the driveway of a scantily-painted, small house.

When I had last lived with him (and really, both of my parents) this was not the house that I had lived in; he had moved several times since the divorce, this city being the latest of his squatting places, and as I hadn't visited him in years it was my first time viewing the dwelling. I stared at its hobbling figure through the windshield, observing with mild ambivalence the strange contrast of old and new; it looked as if it had been renovated within the last half-decade, at least, but its frame was in poor shape, the foundation sagging at odd intervals into the earth and the beams of the porch-shelter cracking and otherwise falling apart. The lawn looked as if it hadn't been mowed in months or more, and weeds had become prey to other weeds, the dandelions showing only at the very edge of the concrete walkway. I stared at the unholy sight, judging the grass to be more than a few inches tall. Glancing to either side of me, I reaffirmed that it was not a neighborhood theme, with every house down the block being fairly maintained. I laughed. I couldn't imagine what the neighbors thought.

The growl of my father's truck idling beside me clicked off and I heard a door slam shut.

'So this is where you're now, huh?' I asked, climbing out of my own vehicle and beginning to stretch my legs.

'Yep,' he nodded as he opened his tailgate. 'Well, let's get your stuff inside.'

I climbed up onto the truck's bed, thankful that he didn't seem much in the mood to chat. I grabbed one end of my chair as he grabbed the other and we waddled inside the house.

At first I didn't even realize, having been too preoccupied with not dropping the recliner on my father's feet (and fantasizing about just that, all the same), but as I stumbled blindly through the hallways it dawned on me that I was tripping on literal trash. The entire floor was caked with miscellaneous wrappers, newspapers, and of course beer bottles. There was nothing outlandishly disgusting to be seen, but I all-the-same cringed at the thought of living in such a place. My father had never been one for cleanliness, though having a floor covered in filth seemed a bit extreme.

Regardless of the mess, we eventually wiggled our way up the stairs and to the guest room, or my room as it was to be. Surprisingly, it was not utterly desecrated, and save for a few random bottles and plastics on the carpet, the space was actually quite clean. Unsurprisingly, it was completely vacant, missing even a bed for the guests that gave the room its name, not that my father ever had guests. We repeated the process with my mattress and TV and then I finished up the rest with the few boxes I had. After placing them into my new room and exploring the upstairs areas, I headed downstairs to find my father. I didn't know what to say, really. 'Elephant in the room' was an understatement, and having peered into the bath area I was half considering whether I should head to a gas station in times of need, but I figured it was best to at least try and have a conversation. I found him sitting on the sofa, watching the news, a bottle of rum in hand.

'Hey, Dad,' I said with a smile, 'thanks for all that. The room's nice.' That much was true. He turned to me in a daze, though I knew it couldn't have already been from the alcohol.

'Uh, yeah. It's fine,' he nodded plainly. After a pause he began again, 'So... whadaya think you're gonna be doin' these next few days?'

'I guess...' Well, I figured the only thing there really was to do was to go around town exploring and filling out applications. 'I guess I'll just be tryin' to find a job, yeah.' I glanced around the house again, of the parts I could see. Going out didn't sound like such a bad idea given the oppressive atmosphere. 'Uh, I'll probably go out in a little bit, here, actually.'

He nodded again, 'Oh, okay, good! Yeah... I, uh, can make somethin' for us for when 'ya get back, six o'clock sound good?' He glanced at my wrist. 'Hey, what happened to the watch I gave you?'

I grimaced, glancing down at the naked wrist myself. 'Uh... that was when I was about eighteen, Dad. I don't have it anymore,' I replied, looking back up to face him. He should've known that. He simply chuckled.

'I know, I know! I'm just messin' with 'ya. Look, I got somethin' for 'ya. Got it back when...' I noticed his brow furl slightly, 'Well, it was supposed to be a weddin' gift, figured you and her would work out. But, ah... well, shit, I still have the damn thing, might as well give you it.'

I kept quiet, letting him speak his peace. I had to admit, I was quite surprised he had gotten me anything, let alone a wedding gift. It was a sweet thought, and reminded me of the few good fibers my father had in him. Of course it had to be a watch, though. He had always had a thing for watches, but I never could figure out why. They were useful tools, but nothing more to me, and it seemed that a lot of the value that people saw in them came from sentimentality alone. It wasn't a bad thing, really, but it just seemed to me that watches were the equivalent of jewelry for women, and I was never a big fan of random gold bits sticking out from my skin. That wasn't the point, though – it was a gift, and I supposed I did need a new watch.

My father rose from his seat and moved around to one of the tables against the wall behind him, tiptoeing through the garbage gracefully as if he had mapped it out before. He rummaged for a moment through some drawers, cursing softly under his breath as the task took longer and longer. I stood and watched in silence, figuring it better to let him do his own thing and finding the act slightly amusing. At length, he turned to me and held up to the light a shimmering object.

'Here it is!' he said as he made his way closer, 'do you like it?'

I hated when people asked me that. I had a habit of this instinctual feeling of guilt, as if I was always going to dislike whatever the other person expected me to appreciate. Most of the time I didn't even mind it – I liked surprises – but it always made me feel bad regardless. I moved my head closer to examine it; it was nothing special – a plain face with a sharp silver border and equally silver-linked chain. Simple enough; I liked it. 'Aw, thank you. Of course I do,' I smiled.

He smiled back, handing it to me before putting his hand on my shoulder and quickly rushing me out, 'Well, you'd better get out there! Remember, six o'clock.' I nodded, glancing over to check the time before making my way to the exit. I wasn't confident he would be sober enough to cook, but I couldn't hold it against him with the watch in hand. I chuckled to myself and made my way out to sit in my car, shaking my head at the event in amusement. Latching the object to my wrist, I adjusted it to the correct time, turned the ignition, and drove away.

It was a good run. Lots of places in the city seemed to be hiring, and I had filled out a good deal of applications before finding myself at a strip mall in a decent-sized plaza downtown. I walked the length of it, having finished checking all the stores within and looked across the parking lot for more locales to hit. I laughed at one building that crossed my sight, its sign cheery and full of vibrant color, a reminder of my pleasant youth. Freddy Fazbear's Pizza. I hadn't seen one for ages, figuring the chain was all but dead, replaced by its more-successful competitors. From the back, the building didn't look like much, with boring brown bricks lining its walls and not much to be said of in decorations. The one from my hometown certainly had been much more extravagant. I shrugged, figuring it couldn't hurt to check, and made my way across to its entrance.

I pushed the glass door open to be met by the familiar tune of the stage show and the annoying banter of children. It wasn't the type of joint I wanted work at – I couldn't fathom myself sweating my balls off in one of those suits all day – but I didn't have much choice, so I powered through the noise and made my way into the main room. It was clean enough inside, though it seemed equally as barren as the outside, and not at all like the blissful atmosphere I remembered. There must've been a party going on, as eight or so children along with a few adult companions were seated at one of the tables before the stage, splattering cake onto themselves and yelling in conversation as the chaperones chatted in a more subdued tone. I glanced around, searching for an employee, but couldn't find one, and so I awkwardly made my way past the group and toward an old friend.

Pirate's Cove. Not the most inventive of all names, but then again none of them were really intended to be clever. I stopped at the curtains and had a good look around the room; it seemed rather empty, really. There were the three animatronics onstage, twitching creepily in their song routine as they always had, but aside from the appropriately-large stage, the room was tiny, with one wall harboring the Cove, opposite of which was the entrance I had come from and the adjacent bathrooms; aside from a few doors leading to the kitchen and who knew where else, there were only two hallways which ended shortly and didn't really seem to lead anywhere. I supposed it was natural for different locations to have different layouts, but the lack of a game room, or party rooms, or anything, really, made the entire experience rather surreal if not outright depressing. At least they still had the trademark walls-plastered-with-random-drawings theme going for them.

I focused my attention back onto the purple, starred curtains housing Foxy, the fourth animatronic. I couldn't remember if there were more than four, but in my mind it seemed as if he were the last. In a nostalgic daze, I moved my hand to part the fabrics, stopping abruptly upon realizing the sign below me, leveled for a child's height. 'Sorry! Out Of Order.' Well that was a shame; I pulled my hand back, figuring it best to not piss off the people I was going to try to get a job from, and hearing a voice from my side as I did.

'Hey there!' the friendly voice shouted as I turned to see a man in a security uniform walking down from the hallway. Well, shit.

'Uh, hey. Sorry,' I spat out. He laughed, stopping a foot or so away from me and shrugging.

'Don't worry about it, everyone's a bit curious 'bout what happened to 'ole Foxy,' he chuckled again.

I relaxed, turning to face him and itching my neck. 'Yeah... what's he out of order for? I used to love that thing as a kid.' I squinted in pain as one of the children behind me let out a playful shriek.

'Who didn't? Haha! Naw, I'd say my favorite was always Freddy himself, but what do I know?' He continued to laugh on and off, causing me to look at him warily and to start feeling a little weirded-out.

'Yeah...'

'Oh! Well, you know, things break, kids 'n all, and they're all pretty old. Guess management just hasn't cared to fix 'em up yet.'

'Oh, yeah. How long 'ave they all been going?'

He shrugged. 'Hell-' he glanced over at the ongoing party and swiftly reduced his enthusiasm, 'Er, heck if I know. I've only been here a few months. Just figured these were in use for a good time from the way they look,' he said, motioning for me to take a glance. I turned to the stage, looking closer at the three do their thing and seeing that the fur of their costumes was rather matted and plain; I even heard a few stuttering vocal glitches as Freddy spoke. 'Ain't pretty, is it? Long shot from what we had growing up.'

"Yeah...' I uttered sadly as I turned back to him. 'How many places do you guys have nowadays?'

He shook his head, 'Honestly I don't think we have any, other than this. At least I haven't heard of any others. The owner barely comes around. Place has only been open for a few years, I think. Even the animatronics were taken from a previous place.' I thought for a moment, pondering the likelihood that the ones I saw were the same I knew from my childhood. I had grown up not far from the city, and I figured it wouldn't hurt to ask.

'Well that sucks. You know which place they came from?' I prodded. 'Might be the same ones I had.' His eyes went up in thought.

'Uh... somewhere West of here, I guess. Heard it wasn't far, but I'm not exactly sure. I know they were in storage for awhile, though,' he said, shrugging.

I nodded in disappointment. I had lived to the North. 'Damn. 'Lotta memories there... noticed you guys don't have a game room.'

'Yep,' he answered, 'nonna that either. Arcade games are on their way out, I guess.' I nodded again, thinking to myself for a little in quiet and glancing at Pirate's Cove to my right. For some silly reason I really wanted to see that damn fox character again.

'You think I could take a look, for old time's sake?' I asked, gesturing towards the curtains. He shook his head.

'Nope, better not. They're strict with rules and all, I guess, and they don't want anybody fiddling with him for whatever reason. And I'd hate to lose my job.' He chuckled nervously.

I chuckled back, gesturing soothingly. 'No problem, believe me I understand...' I trailed off, suddenly remembering my purpose for being there. 'Say, you guys aren't hiring, are you? I didn't see a sign or anything, but-'

'Hell yeah we are!' He then grimaced, glancing once more over my shoulder to the kids. 'Yeah... uh, anyway, we're looking for a night guard. Nothin' special, 'ya just sit back there,' he flung a thumb over his shoulder to point down the hallway, 'and make sure no one comes in to mess with the place. The shift's eleven to seven. Doesn't pay much – just minimum – but hey, it's easy work.' I thought about it for a moment. I hated night shifts, and had trouble staying up for the entirety of them, let alone when I was to be sitting in a room with nothing to do. But a job was a job, and the idea of having one again at all was appealing enough.

'Yeah. Do you have an application?' He laughed.

'I am the application, and the interview. If you want it, that is,' he smiled.

I raised an eyebrow. 'Don't you have a manager or someone for me to talk to?'

'Nope. No manager. Security's pretty much the management, on-site at least. Only other one here right now is Sally in the kitchen. But we don't get a whole 'lotta business so they can't exactly afford a million of us.'

I nodded, 'Alright. And the interview?' I inquired politely.

'You just had it!' he grinned, 'and you're good to go. I like you. There's one catch though – you gotta start tonight. Our guy for it quit, and otherwise I'm gonna have to pull a double and I just don't wanna do that,' he laughed. I cringed, perhaps too visibly, for he immediately looked disappointed. Looking down at my watch I considered the time. I guessed I could make it work, and it was certainly an opportunity.

'Well, alright I guess. Sure, why not.'

'Great!' he nearly spat out. 'Well, let's go down and get you your uniform and all that stuff.' He turned his head to face the kitchen. 'Hey Sally, gotta go for a second! Watch the party!' he shouted, receiving a muffled affirmative in response, myself glancing around to the glares of several adults. The guy was oblivious at best. 'Oh,' he started while I was turned, 'my name's George, by the way.' He extended his hand.

'Armin,' I said, taking it.

George showed me down to the basement through some stairs backstage and pointed out all the relevant things to me as we went – the breaker, should I ever have power issues; the back door (which was news for me, as from the outside it appeared that the building was entirely on a single level), and the office, which, per his own words, was barely used except for the safe to store the week's profits. I filled out my employment forms in a hurry and grabbed my uniform – a dull-blue, buttoned shirt and a similarly-colored cap with 'Night Shift' plastered on it – heading back up with him for the grand tour. He showed me the bathrooms (for some reason), the tiny kitchen, some random storage room, and of course the security office, which resided at the end of the double hallways and connected to each.

'Why are there two hallways leading to nothing but an office?' I asked upon our arrival at the latter location.

'No idea, it's pretty weird actually,' he replied with his standard laugh.

The office itself was pretty high-tech, I had to admit. Full-fledged security doors, a plethora of monitors, and even a handheld one, but the appeal was brought down by the obsessive placement of Freddy's propaganda all over the desk and walls. It was small and comfy enough, though, and so I figured it wouldn't be a terrible place to spend the night reading a book. George continued to explain how things would go. I'd come in for my shift (and apparently they had a never-late policy, which did nothing for my dreading of the upcoming night), he would deposit the money in the safe, lock the entrances, turn off the lights and leave, and I was to sit on my ass watching cameras until six A.M., at which point I would go and turn everything on once again. It sounded easy enough. Of course there was a phone and so if there was ever any trouble I was to call the police and shut the doors, but he assured me that that wouldn't ever happen, and I wasn't very worried in the first place. At length, I thanked him and headed out to the entrance to leave.

It had been an hour or so since I had arrived, and the party and all of its participants had left, leaving their various messes around the room. It was quiet now, aside from the clanking of wares in the kitchen and the soft sounds of the radio over the speakers; the three animatronics, instruments in hand, stood idle, finished with their song and dance for a time. I stopped on my way out to move in front of the stage, only about a foot away from Freddy himself. The creatures were quite tall and bulky, and I remembered then the towering demeanor they had had over me in my youth; even without their perch, each of them had to be over six feet tall. I reached out to place my hand on the chest of the bear, feeling the crusted, brown fur. It certainly wasn't appealing, and, judging from the stench, was in dire need of a wash. I looked to my left, observing the purple Bonnie in a similar state. Bonnie had that sort of clownish grin about him the same as Freddy did, but I found him to be much more unnerving. The way his eyes were painted made it seem as if he were constantly staring at you regardless of the angle of his head, and despite real rabbits being rather adorable, his ears standing erect like some alien's antennae did not invoke feelings of warmth to me. Equally as foreign, I shuddered at Chica's dull-orange beak to my right. Her entire body was oddly-shaped, especially considering she was supposed to emulate a chicken; she had no wings, and had a few strange tufts of fur puffing out atop her head. The head itself mimicked Big Bird more than anything – fat and round – and what with the googily-eyed cupcake she held and her oversized bib endlessly telling me to eat, she was altogether ugly. In fact, the only thing about her that implied she was a chicken at all was her yellow fur.

Eventually, I became bored with the trio and headed home. As expected, my father was passed out on the couch by the time I arrived. It was half after six, and it would have been surprising for anyone else to have drank themselves into such a stupor so quickly, but it wasn't for him. I sighed relief, crisscrossing through the trash up into my room to get some needed rest. It was incredible fortune that I had found something as soon as I had. Maybe I wouldn't have to stay as long as I had thought. Freddy's seemed too odd of a coincidence to be my saving grace, what with all of my memories attached to the place, but I couldn't deny the hope that it would work out. After all, the restaurant appeared unassuming enough, even if the employees and procedures were a bit out-of-touch. I couldn't stop wondering about the damn doors though. It was a kid's restaurant, not a bank – what in the world did they need those things for?

My alarm blared at me in what felt like only a few hours later; I hadn't gotten much rest, my sleep schedule understandably not being accustomed to such an odd hour of awakening. My father had since disappeared from the couch and was now making food of some sort in the kitchen, so I sneaked around to the coffee machine, hoping in my waking delirium to avoid his drunkenness.

'Oh, hey, whatcha up for so late?' He asked, immediately noticing me. He didn't seem intoxicated.

'Got a third-shift job, gotta head out quick,' I answered groggily, paying more mind to my quest for coffee than him.

'Oh yeah?' He said, sounding impressed. 'Where at?' I shook my head in annoyance. I hated being interrogated in the morning, or at least when I woke up.

'Fuckin' Freddy Fazbear's, if you'd believe it,' I dismissed. I continued making a pot, eventually realizing his unusual silence and stopping for a moment to look at him. His mouth was ajar, his eyes wide with concern and disbelief. 'What?'

He shook his head. 'Oh, nothing. It's good 'ya got a job,' he stated, his expression returning to normal before walking off into the living room. I squinted in confusion, attempting to discern his strange reaction, but then continued on with my work. At length I prepared my mug, grabbed a book, and walked bleary-eyed out to my car, trying my best to prepare for the long night. I ought to have had showered, really, but I hadn't wanted to bear the sight of the bath, so at least the uniform was clean.

I arrived at my new workplace, the building shadowed by the moon and unlit by its earlier neon sign. The door was surprisingly unlocked, and so I stumbled into the main room with a yawn. Freddy, Bonnie, and Chica stared silently across the room, powered off and looking extraordinary creepy, even with the brightly-colored lights shining down on them. The restaurant was eerily quiet as a whole, which I had to admit was rather welcoming, as opposed to the feared environment that I felt I would be working in when I had decided to proposition the place. I began to make my way to the security office only to be stopped by a door slamming behind me, giving me quite a startle.

'There you are. Get any sleep?' George asked, exiting the backstage room.

'Sure,' I yawned loudly.

'Well, hope your night goes well. I'm tired as hell myself. Head on back and I'll switch everything off. See 'ya, man,' he finished, heading downstairs. I went to the office and sat down with a sigh, placing my mug on the desk and bracing my forehead on my hand. I rubbed my eyes roughly. It was going to be a very long night.

After a moment, I was jolted awake to the loud clunk of all the main lights in the building powering off, leaving the office as a final sanctuary of electricity. I glanced to either side of me at the abyss of black outside the open doors and checked to see if the lights worked. Both flickered on, momentarily illuminating the outside hall in a blueish-white glow. Reassured, I continued to yawn sporadically as I propped my legs up on the desk and took out my novel. It was one I had already read, but then again all of those I owned I had completed, so I didn't have many options. I noted I would have to find the library the next day, if I was even awake enough to do so. Glancing down at my watch, the minute hand hadn't moved much since I had arrived, reading only twenty past the hour. Obnoxiously slow, despite how long it felt. I sighed again, opening up my book and beginning my journey.

I almost had a heart attack when a phone ring pierced both the silence of the restaurant and my own drowsiness. Being consumed by my story, I had almost forgotten my sleepy state, let alone where I was. I checked my wrist quickly, noting the time at being precisely midnight. Who on Earth would call a business so late? Grumbling to myself, I figured I had nothing better to do, and so picked up the receiver just as the third ring began. I was met by the voice of some guy shouting out 'Hello?' over and over as I continually responded, eventually realizing that I was listening to a recorded message of some sort. If calling a place at midnight was absurd, recording a message at such a time was downright insane. I allowed the disbelief to pass over me for a moment and tried my best to comprehend at least some of what the man was saying.

And it horrified me. At the conclusion of the message I tried my best to laugh it off, though it did nothing in effect. In truth, I was thoroughly unnerved. I hadn't actually read most of the contract I had signed earlier, and the possibility of there being horrific and cruel death clauses had me frantically rampaging through the desk's drawers in an effort to find any sort of paperwork. There wasn't anything though, the contents of the desk being nothing other than blank sheets and random officely junk. Frustrated and anxious, my mind went to the other aspects of the man's detail. Free-roaming mode. The message had to have been a prank – there was no such thing. I mean, I remembered them walking around sometimes in my youth, but that was different. The animatronics were shut off at night. They couldn't move. And the part about... stuffing me into a suit? It would have been laughable had I not been at an unfamiliar place in the middle of night. It had to have been a prank. But what if it wasn't?

A shudder coursed my body. I was quite awake now, that was for sure. The possibility that it were real – that the things the guy in the message had said were all real... it was enough to drive paranoia into my mind. And the dark didn't help either. I turned to each door, quickly flicking the light switch to reveal nothing but postered wall with relief. But I knew that wasn't enough. I grabbed the handheld from the desk, cradling it in my hands as I powered it on. I had to check the cameras, just to make sure. I didn't want to – I think I feared the realization of them actually moving more than the movement itself – but I had to. The screen lit up, revealing the stage. All three were standing there, the same as they had been earlier. I switched the camera to Pirate's Cove and saw nothing new – simply the closed curtains. Compulsively flipping to each view, I checked every angle I could, if only to be sure. Strangely, there was no camera facing the front doors nor any outside views at all, and the kitchen camera was completely dark, which I supposed wasn't really that odd given that it could've been broken.

For some reason, as I was going through the different views I started feeling uneasy, much moreso than I had previously. It was the various child-authored scribblings pasted to the walls throughout the restaurant, as well as the Freddy posters. I was stopping to squint at the screen every so often, trying to make out what I could of them. I couldn't really place it, but some just looked... off. They felt wrong to me. And they were indeed quite creepy-looking in the darkness, but perhaps it was the darkness itself that made them feel so weird. That's what I figured, at least. At length I put the monitor back onto the desk and sighed. Just a prank. Of course the others would try and fuck with the new guy. Every job had its own form of hazing, I had just so happened to get the terrifying variety. I chuckled to myself, at least in thanks of them for waking me up, and brought my book back to my eyes.

I was trying my best to lose myself to the story, as I still felt rather unsettled, with the darkness beyond the doors to my sides continuing to play tricks with my head. And there was this noise, too, that I would hear every so often, causing me to look up and check my surroundings. It usually sounded like some sort of scraping, kind of, along with the occasional, deep, thud. It was nothing alarming, of course, so I kept writing it off as being more fear-induced paranoia. Eventually the noise began to bother me so badly that I marked my spot in my book and put it down to sit for a moment and listen. Ten seconds, thirty... I stared at my watch, waiting for anything to make a sound, but heard nothing. After a minute or two I shook my head in annoyance and gave into the paranoia, deciding to do a quick check of the cameras just to be sure. I brought the handheld back up to my eyes and flipped away from the view I had left it on to go back to the show stage.

What I then felt was indescribable – insanity, I imagined. It really didn't matter how I felt though, because when I saw only two animatronics onstage, along with the decidedly absent form of Bonnie, I lost all coherent thought. The open doorways to my sides had suddenly become singularities – voids ready to suck me in at any moment, and everything within my heart and mind screamed at me to escape. But there was no escape, and there was no hiding. My mind worked in an instant upon the realization, and I flashed to my feet, flinging the handheld to the floor. The right door first. It slammed shut. Then left. I missed it, hitting the switch for the light directly below it.

It all became clear as the hall was illuminated. I determined the source of the noise I had been hearing for so long, and why it had abruptly stopped. The few minutes of silence just before... every second that had passed was a second in which I had been observed by the creature from outside the doorway, shrouded in darkness. The light flickered on its outline, highlighting the bunny's plump, horrible visage. Its head was cocked, as if a curious dog, its eyes deep-set and paralyzing; dull teeth grinned from its ajar mouth – one easily large enough to consume a human head and then more. It didn't blink, it didn't twitch, it just stared. Its fur flashed with color as the light continued its dance, my eyes locking with the animatronic's own for what seemed to be minutes. And then the moment passed, and I screamed, my fingers moving up to the door button and shutting it. The line of sight broken, I collapsed into the chair. Staring down at the floor, unable to think, I inadvertently locked on the monitor's shuddering image of Pirate's Cove. The curtains were open, and a pair of glowing eyes now peeked out to focus on the camera.


	6. IV

I had been sitting there for some time, locked in contest with the shadowed eyes. I wasn't really sure if it was the terror that held me or some other force, but I couldn't move, I couldn't break away. That was to say, of course, that I was even capable of thinking on such things, as currently I was still in a state of pure shock. I felt strange, though, as I looked upon the dark form of my screen. Despite the horror that resided just outside my door, I was not nearly as afraid of the visage that peered through the camera. Perhaps it was because of the distance and therefore relative safety of myself from him, but I felt as if there was something else to my calm entirely. Bonnie... his eyes were a deep and terrifying pink, shadowed in a way so that they didn't appear as anything but demons in the darkness. But Foxy's were luminous, as if they themselves were a source of strange yellow light.

I wasn't sure when I had done so, but I eventually did regain some sense of reality and swiftly realized the very real presence of what may still have remained outside. I shook my head, freeing my gaze from the fox's eyes, and slowly turned to my left, peering into the window that resided alongside the steel behemoth of a door. If Bonnie were still out there, I had no way of knowing; I hadn't heard any movement as had I before. Standing, I reached to the light switch in a daze and pressed the button, illuminating the hallway. He wasn't there, or at least I didn't see him, which I supposed would be expected if the animatronic was still against the door. I shuddered at the thought, the possibility adding to my all-too-real nightmare.

Moving back to the chair, I picked the handheld up from the floor and brought it to my lap. I squinted at the screen, trying to make out Foxy's form in his cove, but he wasn't there anymore, and the curtains were closed. I breathed in and filled my stale lungs with new life, desperate to make sense of everything that had so suddenly happened, and frustrated being unable to. My senses had returned, at least, but I was then left to manage with a pounding head given to me by the past adrenaline. Leaning onto the desk and brushing my scalp, I quickly decided to check the restaurant. I looked to the views outside of my door, but Bonnie wasn't there. Flipping to the stage camera, I saw the forms of Freddy and Chica to be still, if all the more foreboding. Eventually, I located the animate bunny in the backstage area, idly staring at the camera from a distance. Sighing, I had hoped I'd find relief in seeing him at a distance, but I didn't; the fact remained that the restaurant's featured entertainment was mobile and aware, even if they weren't actually an immediate threat. Or were they?

I turned to one of the doors, deciding to get up and try my fist at it. With an echoing thunk it shuddered in reply, and I squinted in pain, grasping one hand in another instinctively. It really hadn't been the best idea in the world, but I supposed it was somewhat understandable that I was apart from intelligent thought. I kicked the steel, the soft toe of my shoe bouncing off it easily. At least I knew the reason for the security doors, and figured nothing was going to be getting through them any time soon. That left the windows. Studying them for a few seconds, I thought it best to not try my luck with them, given that if my testing proved worthwhile I would be signing my own doom anyway.

I sighed again, powerless, and moved into one of the back corners of the room. Sliding my back down against the wall to curl up, I gave myself clear vision of both doors and the left window. I did not feel in the slightest safe, and was deeply regretting my decision to have even had applied there; I sat for some time, gazing at my sides in perpetual anxiety to watch for any passing shadow to appear in view.

At one point I glanced at my watch. 4:43. Had it really been that long? The night was almost over, thankfully, though I considered with terror the thought of going out and turning back on the lights and appliances in little over an hour. I swallowed, realizing at once that my mouth had become incredibly dry, my skin caked with sweat. Chuckling to myself, I figured I had never been afflicted by a fear so intense before. Looking back, it was easy to brush it aside – it all seemed as if an unfortunate dream. I moved back to the desk to grab my thermos half-full and poured some of its liquid into my mouth. I coughed, the coffee cold and bitter, and looked down to check the handheld from where I had left it.

It was certainly no dream, but I had known that much. Bonnie was still missing. I made sure the doors weren't in any immediate danger of bursting open and then closed my eyes, leaning back in the chair.

'Just nuts,' I mumbled to myself, the sound of my own voice being rather soothing. So what were the animatronics, anyway? I no longer had reason to doubt the voicemail's legitimacy, and so delved my memory for more details. The death clause in the contract was unnerving, but I hadn't found anything in the desk and I wasn't about to wander downstairs to be sure. It was something to check once the first-shifter arrived and things weren't as much of a danger. If I were ever out of danger. How could it all be real? How wouldn't the government, let alone the owners of the restaurant realize what was going on? The place wasn't appropriate for employees nor kids, and even if the animatronics weren't going to try and kill someone, they still shouldn't have allowance to move around on their own. That was a simple safety issue. But the employment contract had apparently made it quite clear of the company's views on safety. I should have had actually read it.

I understood then why the franchise had fallen into disarray over the years. If the same were the case at all the other locations, they wouldn't have survived long at all. Had there ever been any news about the true nature of the restaurants? I thought back, and quickly remembered my father's shock upon hearing of my new employment. Perhaps he knew something. If the animatronics were faulty and had tried to shove employees into suits, there had to have been a few poor souls who wouldn't've made it through the night. How would the restaurant have explained the missing people? And the owners obviously knew of the dangers, indicated by the doors. How did the news not know anything about all of it? It didn't make any sense – it seemed like a poorly-written movie, yet it was somehow real.

Even if there was somehow a logical explanation for the workings of the restaurant, it still wouldn't explain how the animatronics could move and hunt and apparently recognize people as endoskeletons. As a programmer, I couldn't imagine a line of code capable of having them become aware of humans as actual objects to be manipulated, nor even why such a design would be implemented. It seemed incredible that such a feat could be accomplished, and my mind wandered for a moment into the realm of envy, but I quickly reminded myself of the task at hand. So they could walk, that was normal. And interacting with children was definitely something they had done when I was in my youth, but neither we nor the animatronics were ever allowed to actually touch one other. At least that was what we had been told. I nodded to myself. Perhaps it wasn't too implausible for animatronics to roam at night and to even try and stuff people into suits, if that was what their programming dictated, but it was still an utterly idiotic design choice as a whole. Of course, they wouldn't be able to 'see' as humans would, but then that bore into mind the question of Bonnie silently looking at me for minutes on-end, as well as the seemingly-persistent habit of both he and Foxy staring at cameras. Those aspects were certainly among the most strange. I thought for awhile on how it could be, but had no explanation aside from them being additional programming features; that possibility combined with everything else was a bit too far-fetched.

Foxy in particular hadn't labored to hunt me, for one reason or another. I checked the monitor again, confirming that the other two hadn't moved either. It all seemed so fucking unbelievable; the more I attempted to rationalize everything, the more convoluted and frustrating and terrifying the situation became.

Maybe that was it. I glanced at the monitor in bemusement. I was insane. Or something. It didn't really matter what it was, because regardless of the name, I had it. The depression, the stress, the anxiety – it had all fit so perfectly into the atmosphere that it had begun to conjure up actual illusions for my mind. Honestly, I considered it to be the most reasonable of all explanations, if also the hardest to confirm. The idea was as depressing as much as it was relieving, and I suddenly imagined myself locked up in some institution with a grimace. Regardless of my actual mental health, I figured I'd assuredly be put away were I to go around talking about what I had just seen.

The doors seemed solid enough, at least, and amongst all the thought, six A.M. had come and went. I had been glancing at the handheld occasionally, watching Bonnie seemingly teleport from one area to another with a staticy fizz of the camera. For the last half hour or so he hadn't budged, having returned to his normal spot on stage right-side of Freddy. Pirate's Cove, too, remained unaltered, and everything seemed at last like it had when I had first entered into the restaurant seven or so hours earlier. I was still on-edge, but having things calm down seemed to have settled my mind somewhat. Per George, I was supposed to have gone out and turned everything back on by now, but I clearly wasn't going to be doing that. I fidgeted in my chair, mulling over the possible consequences of me neglecting my duty, but there was nothing to be done to sway my mind.

It was not as dark now, at least, and despite having no direct view, I could see the highlights of the animatronics and walls grow brighter – the sun's rays had begun their morning journey through the glass doors of the entrance. The fur of the creatures appeared vibrant and alive compared to their earlier, darker state, and I felt a wave of absurdity roll over me as I gained a renewed view of what I was so terrified of. I watched the main stage for awhile and particularly Bonnie, half expecting at any time to see his head jitter to face the camera and startle me, but was startled instead by a banging on the security door to my right. I jumped to my feet and scuttered over to the window, peering around it to see the dimly-lit figure of a man. Another human, thank God. I pressed the button and released the door.

'Well it seems you've had a fun night,' the bored voice came, taking a step into the room. I backed away without thought, glancing over to the button on the wall beside him, still anxious to seal us safely inside.

'Y-y-yeah, uh...' I swept past him, shutting the door again. 'I, uh-'

'You didn't turn on anything, you know.' He stood at ease, seemingly awaiting an explanation.

'Y-yeah. Sorry. Listen, it's been pretty...' Did I actually want to tell him what I had experienced? If I was crazy, it was a sure way to lose my job and maybe more. But I figured I couldn't hold such a terror in. 'Yeah, crazy. Uh, have you guys ever had any... weird experiences here?'

He didn't make much of a motion, seeming to freeze for a moment as he stared at me. 'What kind?'

'Uh, w-well... yeah, Bonnie, he, uh... he came to my door...' I encouraged.

'What?' he replied, keeping a straight face if there was one to keep. 'What do you mean 'came to your door'?'

'I mean he... Look, never mind. Sorry about the lights and stuff. I got spooked,' I sputtered out, my voice cracking from a flux of different emotions.

'Uh huh. Did George show you where the fuse box is?'

'Yeah...'

'Okay,' he snarled, 'well, go down there and turn everything back on. The kitchen too. It's not too much to ask for someone who doesn't do anything all night.' I nodded quickly, doing my best to see if he was serious, or at the very least sincere. I couldn't tell.

'Uh, yeah, sorry,' I stammered, opening the door and making my way out before I had fully realized what I was doing. He stopped me as I turned the corner.

'Hello? You're gonna need this,' he yelled as he casually strolled out, tossing me a flashlight that had been on the desk. 'And don't fucking close these doors unless you actually need them. They cost us way too much in electricity to just keep them down.'

The man shook his head and sighed, walking back into the office. I was nearly in tears and quite confused, and finding myself in one of the dreaded hallways of only an hour prior wasn't doing any mending for my nerves. I clicked the flashlight on and turned toward the stage room, shining it down the hallway and onto the form of the three animatronics. They remained still, and were more lit by the rising sun that my own source of light. I crept into the room and then across it, keeping as much distance from both Pirate's Cove and the trio as was possible. I could've turned to run out the front, but for some reason or another I was daring my mind and my gut to press onward, perhaps just to see how crazy I truly was. Really, though, I was doing my best to simply not think on things and to complete the seemingly-endless quest across the room alive.

Reaching the door, I immediately sped inside, shutting it quickly and quietly behind me. It was completely dark there, and in passing the beam of my flashlight over the spare suits and heads of the three stage animatronics I only increased my paranoia. I made my way to and down the stairs in a hurry, ignorant of any caution in doing so, and arrived at the breaker box to frantically switch on the power to the entire place, at last rendering my flashlight obsolete.

I sighed, checking at first my surroundings to ensure my safety, before promptly collapsing to sit on the floor. My eyes were wet from fear alone, if not from the added stress of the asshole that had come to save me. The other office was beside me now, along with all the documentation I had signed yesterday, but I didn't care. I simply wanted out of the place.

I walked back upstairs and nervously past the trio, bee-lining for the door. My thermos could remain at the restaurant for all I cared; I wasn't coming back. As I made my way out to the entrance area, I heard a voice shout out from behind me, once again causing me to jolt.

'Guess I'll do the kitchen then?' I heard a snort. 'We can expect you back tonight, yeah?' the perturbed voice sounded.

'Yeah!' I shouted in reply, slamming the door open and bolting outside. I arrived at my car in seconds, turning to look back at the building and panting heavily, a great relief rolling over me. The sun was low and the air moist and cool in my lungs, and it was suddenly a wonderfully beautiful and altogether opposed atmosphere from that of the restaurant's. And so I stood there for minutes, breathing in and out in a rhythm, recollecting on the ordeal and calming my mind in what ways I could.

Upon my arrival home, I bypassed everything and made my way straight to bed. The night had been far longer than I had originally thought it would be, and my body and mind were more than simply exhausted. The employee denying that Bonnie could even move didn't help my case for insanity, and I had begun to thoroughly doubt my own reasoning in the time of the drive home. There was really no way to confirm one way or another other than seeing a psychologist or something, and I wasn't about to go ahead and take that tremendous leap of faith, which left me with the resounding reality of having to continue on with life thinking I was nuts. I'm not sure why I had said I was coming back that night. It was a resoundingly stupid thing to say and a terrible mark on my references for when I went to apply to other places; I didn't want to go back, and I had no reason to, so why in the hell had I said I would?

As I thought to myself and grew closer to the sweet escapism of dreams, something from the voicemail popped into my mind. 'The Bite of '87.' Was it possible that something had happened to the severity of there being a name for it? Certainly, although why I continued to play with the idea of any of it even being real was a better question. There was one thing, though, that could possibly and already have proven the claim. In the voicemail, it was stated that 'the bite' had ended the allowance of the animatronics to move around during the day. Searching my memory, I knew they had done just that – walked around and interacted with us, and that there had often been different rooms for different 'scenes'. But that had been in the 70's. 1987 had only been a few years ago, and what with George mentioning the sparse nature of the chains, was it possible that 'the bite' had happened with the same animatronics as the ones at the current restaurant?

My mind worked circles around all of the information and events, and was continually pulled from its true desire of sleep I tried my best to force all of it out, but it was futile, and I kept ending up on the same conclusions of addictive curiosity, both in of my questionable sanity, and, if proven sound, the true nature of everything related to the mystery of that place. It was a terrible prospect in reality, but as much as I tried, my desires remained in of the adventure of it all – the story. Quite an appropriate fate, really.

My sleep was plagued with nightmares of the sort I should have expected. There wasn't much to be said of them other than that I suddenly knew what it felt like to have four metal monstrosities wrap my fleshy form around steel. It wasn't very appealing. The night (or, really, day) was incredibly restless because of that, and waking up every hour or so had me sleeping much longer than planned. It was always the same dream, from the beginning of the shift to the end, and each time I tried something different to stay alive, but I could never escape. Bonnie, Chica, and Freddy were all somehow very apparent in their appearance, but Foxy always showed as a sort of misty shadow-figure, with no distinct shape or mass. That was aside, of course, from his bright, yellow eyes. The others didn't speak, but he sometimes did as a dark whisper, though I could never make out what he said. Eventually, I awoke to my father's hacking and snorting from downstairs and couldn't fall back asleep, either due to the intense mystery clouding my mind or his repulsive compulsions.

I walked downstairs, feeling rather awake, but then saw that it was half past nine – far into the night. Grabbing some coffee, I sat down beside him on one of the clear areas of the couch and said my good mornings, mindlessly watching the television. We sat there for a time in silence – there was some boring soap opera on in black and white and I wasn't much interested, remaining only to slowly build the courage up to ask him more as to his reaction of the previous night.

'So why were you weirded out at my job before,' I at last asked.

He took awhile to respond, innocently watching the images change on the screen. 'Awh, it was 'eally nothin',' he dismissed. He had been drinking for awhile, and it showed.

'Yeah... but you seemed upset.'

'It was nothin',' he repeated. 'Just old 'umors.' That was what I wanted.

'What kinds?' I encouraged.

He turned to me with a quizzical look, 'Kinds?'

'What kinds of rumors, Dad.'

'Well...' he sputtered off, 'Really nothin', 'on't wanna spoil yer time as a kid.' I was growing frustrated now, and figured it wouldn't hurt to say some things that he wouldn't remember in the morning anyway.

'Dad, please. There was some weird shit going on at that restaurant last night and I want to know.' His expression turned stern.

'Fine! But 'on't blame me if yer not 'appy, I can't 'elp what happened...' I continued to stare him down, waiting for him to continue his story. He sighed. 'Me and mom took yew outta goin' there back when some 'hildren went missin'. Couldn't find 'em, but lotsa news. After den, place 'ent downhill. Just buncha talk 'n drama, but it didn't close. 'Ever found those kids... poor devils... Not sure why it 'in't close fer that... We'd stop takin' yew, just ta be safe.' He nodded to himself in reminiscence.

'What talk?' I pressed, suddenly understanding the very reasonable decision for my childhood escape being forced away from me. 'How'd the kids go missing?' My father continued his nodding, but his eyes were now locked upward in thought.

'Nev' could say. Cops sure 'idn't know. 'Em kids still gone to this day, 'Onder what their parents... think...'

'And how did they disappear?' I pressed, an inflection on the 'how' to reaffirm my seriousness.

'Oh,' he realized, ''eah, during one a the days or somethin'. All town said some worker did it. Never found 'em though... couldn't prove anythin'. He shook his head in dismay.

'Were there any other kids who... disappeared?' It was unlikely this had anything to do with my night before. I had stopped going to Freddy's back around ten years ago, and the animatronics at the restaurant I worked at were not the same as those I had known. At least I thought so.

'Naw, no more. Least none I know. Place closed few 'ears later for renovations or somethin'. Relocated... don't know. That store at least. Don't know, Armin... why ya 'eing so mean? Sure the one 'ere isn't the same...' he hiccuped.

'Yeah, I'm sure. Sorry.' I got up and walked to the kitchen, using the space to clear my head. That wasn't the explanation I was looking for, but at least it was something. Part of me had hoped he would have mentioned murderous robots simply so I could confirm my sanity. As it was, I'd have to go back and see. I thought of the doors again, and my having come from the previous shift unscathed. I supposed it wouldn't be too dangerous to return, and would certainly prove well for my wallet... I'd just have to figure out a way to manage my fear.

11 P.M. had arrived, and I once more found myself standing outside the front doors of Freddy Fazbear's Pizza. I had been pacing there for some time, contemplating and re-contemplating my possibly-suicidal decision to take the shift. The lights were still turned on inside, but I couldn't see the trio on their stage from around the corner. The building's appearance seemed innocent enough, even in the darkness of the new moon, but I knew better than to be fooled by its siren's call. Or maybe I didn't, because with a breath of submission I reached for the door, flinging it open and stepping inside. George was sitting at one of the tables afront the stage, tapping a finger on the cloth.

'There you are. Was thinkin' you weren't gonna show... had me worried for awhile.'

'Yeah...' I scratched my neck in nervousness, glancing at Bonnie to my right. 'Sorry about that. It's been a long night- er, day.' He laughed quietly.

'Yep, I imagine. So what was going on this morning? You know you gotta turn everything back on again, right?'

'Yeah, I know... I'll make sure I do it today.' Would I?

'Well, alright.' He stood, turning his back to me, and moved towards the backstage's door. 'Have a good night,' he said as he went off, trailing a hand in the air in a gesture of farewell. I wondered if the sign was for the night or forever. Hurrying into the office, I wasn't about to stand out in the open a moment longer than I had to. I shut the doors and grabbed the monitor, thinking on the days of my recent past – my old job, the last weeks at my apartment, the hill, and finally the restaurant. I remembered how, not long ago, I had dreamed of adventure and escape. I had found it, that was for sure, and with the lights beginning to click off, I wondered if what I had always desired had ever even been worth it. I was trapped for the night.


	7. V

'_Oh, hey there, kids! Welcome to Freeeeedy Fazbear's Pizza!' The bear animatronic jerked up and around in a stilted, predictable fashion, shifting his torso and head to the side to look at Bonnie. 'Do any of you want to hear a song?' the enthused, wobbly voice continued, as Freddy turned to the chicken beside him. 'My friends, Bonnie and Chica, would reeeeeally like that!' The children throughout the room let out a definitive 'Yes!' and the animatronic lead chuckled in reply; I continued eating my pizza, bored and frustrated at my parents' persistence of me watching the show. It was my first time, and I was going to make it clear I didn't have any desire for a second. I glanced down to my plate as Freddy brought his fake microphone up to his face and the charade began; I concentrated on drowning out the music._

_After a few long songs, Freddy spoke up again. 'Well, alrighty, kids! Did you have fun?' I glanced up and around, seeing the crowd reply in shout as Bonnie and Chica waved. _

'_Oh, come on, Armin, join in!' I turned to my mother and shrugged, noticing my father's absence. He was probably off in the bathrooms or something. 'Well, it doesn't hurt, but if you don't like it we won't be coming back.' I let out a whine and went for another slice. She slapped my hand before I reached it. 'And none of that, either. So you better shape up.' I pouted, turning in my seat to face the stage better, having been forced into compliance._

'_Bonnie, are you thinking what I'm thinking?' Freddy asked as the purple bunny's head nodded._

'_I think it's time for a special event!' Bonnie replied. I groaned, internally pointing out that it wasn't special if it was done daily._

'_It is,' Freddy laughed, leaning over the stage to lock eyes with the crowd, 'It's time for 'Foxy's Pirate Adventure!'' The bear put on a mock pirate voice for the stunt and several children began to giggle. I let out another groan._

'_Arrr! So it be!' a gruff, muffled voice shouted from behind the curtains of the stage. A hook parted them, and then a crimson paw, before the fox shambled out onto the rise. 'And ye be known' what that means, Freddy.' Foxy pushed past Chica and the bear to stand before the crowd, waving his hook in the air. 'That it be time fer a 'lil...' he went into a whisper, '...danger!' Some of the children gasped, to which the animatronic let out a pirate chuckle. 'If ye all be up for it, that is! So then, who 'ere wants to help Cap'n Foxy wit' a 'lil plunderin'?' he grinned. _

_And that was to be the first time I really met him, having only seen him in passing during prior visits. It's long ago, now. I was only six..._

* * *

Four A.M., five, six... surprisingly, the night had gone quickly. Bonnie had returned to his common routine of stalking me, having shown multiple times in the left-side window, though I noted never on the right. He appeared to have a pattern to him, starting off in the main room and moving at first to the backstage, then down the hallway; occasionally, he peeked into the closet for some reason or another, but eventually always found his way to outside of my office, only to go back again and repeat the process.

The right door, however, seemed to be of the fondness of Chica, who had joined in on the activity. At first I hadn't even known she was about, but upon hearing newly-strange noises, I had checked around the cameras and had discovered her to be fooling around in the kitchen with pots and pans and whatever else imaginable. It sounded as if she had been throwing them all over the place, though I hadn't been able to tell what with the camera being dark. Eventually, she, too, would wander toward the office, though I had been able to clearly see her in the window when illuminated, as opposed to her lapine counterpart.

She had startled me greatly when I had first noticed her, her appearance being one purely out of nightmare; she had been unlike Bonnie in that while she stared as he did, her eyes were instead entirely widened and utterly fixated on me. Her beak, too, had been drawn apart, a gaping chasm showing deep into her costume and being more than enough to have sent a chill down my spine. But she had been locked out the same as Bonnie, and so eventually left me alone. Even still, that damn bib resonated a humorously morbid message which had remained with me throughout the night.

At twelve, I had received yet another call, or, more aptly, another voicemail, bringing to mind again the idea that I wasn't insane. In its duration, the man had mentioned some fittingly unnerving things, including the animatronics becoming more 'active' as the week went forward, which certainly had explained Chica's sudden appearance when it occurred. There had also been the mention of Freddy, as well as another reminder about power usage, whatever that meant. I hadn't had any trouble with the power all of that night and the previous, despite consistently having the doors shut. I had wondered for some time on the significance of both the man in the voicemail and the first-shifter having warning me not to keep them closed, but hadn't come to any conclusions.

And then there had been the note about Foxy. I had left my view on Pirate's Cove for most of the shift; it hadn't been because of the 'nature' of him that had been described in the voice message, but rather my curiosity. My dreams, combined with the other things – his eyes the previous night, my childhood – had driven me to do so, and so between my book and being freaked out by Bonnie or Chica outside my door, I had checked up on him from time to time through the monitor. But I hadn't seen anything, the curtains having remained untouched throughout the night.

I had thought about what that meant, as well. After all, during the previous shift he had at least shown himself, and Bonnie hadn't regressed in any way to a less-mobile state, so why had he not appeared? It seemed that no matter which way I spun things, Foxy, in particular, remained a confoundment. And what with the relative calm of my night, I had had a good deal of time to ponder on my decision to return and the driving force behind that decision; there was mystery here of which I could not escape from, and something even deeper continued to push me forward. I was still afraid, yes, but that fear was nothing compared to the torment of not knowing. I had to know.

I spun in my chair as a child would, the soft whirr of the desk fan easing my mind. I labored in my breaths, repeatedly checking my watch. It was time for me to turn everything on as I should have had done the day before, but I found it difficult to motivate myself past the safety of my doors. I had checked the monitors often recently, and Bonnie and Chica had long since returned to their spots on the stage, but I was still afraid. Of course I was afraid, who wouldn't be? But it had been okay the day before, and if I wanted to go through with my adventure, I had to at least have some balls about things.

Sighing, I stopped my circling and stood, pausing for a few seconds to regain my balance. Doing a final check of the cameras, I deemed the restaurant to be as safe as could be, grabbed my flashlight, and released the doors. Stepping outside the left entry in silence, I clicked the button of the flashlight on and shined it down the hallway. The trio were on their stage, and everything appeared normal. I made my way down to the main room and past Pirate's Cove, swiveling my head to keep an eye on all four potential enemies. Nothing stirred, and I snuck into the backstage and shut the door behind me.

I repeated the process I had the night before, albeit in a slightly less-panicked state. Flipping on the switches of the restaurant, I once more took notice of the office beside me.

'Not right now,' I murmured, making my way back up the stairs. I would be damned to be caught and trapped down there with one of the animatronics.

The stage room, brightened to its usual, childish display, was truly a symbol for my own ridiculousness. Twice now, I was left with a feeling of stupidity from my fear of the dark and of the things that stirred within it; the creatures appeared innocent once again. I shook my head, making my way to the kitchen to turn on the appliances. Snapping the ceiling lights to life with a switch, I revealed the devastation that Chica had wrought, what with wares of every kind strewn across the floor and countertops. The oven, for some reason or another, was open, the racks having been pulled out as if she had tried to climb into it. I bent over to laugh, the sight and idea of a murderous animatronic chicken trying to cook itself being too much to handle.

I did my best to reorganize and put things back together before turning everything on and making my way to the store's entrance. My watch read fifteen minutes until my shift ended, which meant that what's-his-fuzz was to be here any moment, and figured I deserved an early breath of fresh air. The sound of traffic was subdued, overpowered by the incessant tweeting of birds perched in various trees scattered across the plaza. I sat down on the curb of the sidewalk and rubbed my eyes into my hands, listening to the avian songs. I had a plan. Over the course of the night I had come to know one thing, and that was that I was committed to figuring out what the hell was going on there. That required knowledge of what had happened before, and what, if any, relevance it had. The downstairs office would have documentation, and I figured I'd come back some time during the day and sneak down to take a look. In the mean time, I would have to find the library and see what newspapers they had from the years past. Hopefully there was something.

I heard a car pull up and into the parking space aside me, the hum of the motor deafening my previously at-peace ears. I stood up, returning my eyes to the brightness of the rising sun, and watched the man from the morning before exit his car – a red beater of some make.

'Howdy, taking a break, I see?' he nodded in greeting.

'Yeah. Everything's all turned on like you asked.' I knew there was no point in mentioning any of the new developments.

'Good! Good,' he replied, strolling past me and entering the restaurant, I following suit. 'Take it the night went okay?'

'Yeah,' I lied, 'everything's fine,' I said as I glanced to the animatronics as we entered into the stage area. We continued into the office and he motioned at the doors.

'You keep these things open like I told you?'

'Yep, sorry about that.' The man sat down in the chair and eyeballed me.

'It's fine,' he said at length.

'So, my name's Armin,' I extended a hand.

'I know,' he replied, waving his own. I raised an eyebrow and retracted my arm. 'My name's Tom.'

'Are you... a manager here?' My voice was earnestly quizzical, if a bit snide.

'No. Just a crew member like you. Nothing special.' He grinned slyly.

'Oh.' I looked around awkwardly. I wondered what the dominant demeanor was for, then. 'Uh, well, anyway I should get going. Uh, have a good night, I mean day.' I shook my head.

'Yep,' Tom finished, turning to the desk.

I had some breakfast and freshened up at a fast-food place with what money I had left, and then asked around for the location of a library. Eventually, I was directed toward and found it, and noticed with some delight that the building was enormous in comparison to what I had been used to from the years in my town. Strolling inside, I found a quiet, young woman who directed me to the location of the newspapers. She informed me that the library had records of all the papers in the city and the surrounding areas going back a good thirty years, but that if I was looking for something in particular, I was going to have to spend quite a bit of time filing through junk. Well, she didn't put it exactly that way. But I knew what I wanted to find and figured it wouldn't be too difficult, and feeling surprisingly awake I began my journey through time.

There was not a specific date that had been given to me by my father for the incident he had described, but there was a year for the one mentioned in the first night's voicemail. 1987. That would be simple enough to search for, provided, of course, that it had taken place somewhere in the immediate area. The two events weren't the same, I knew that much, but I had to start somewhere. I collected all the various forms of publications from that year and started sorting. The piles were huge for that date alone, and I quickly realized the sheer volume I would be taking upon myself in order to discover the other incident, as well as dreading my eventual, required re-categorization of it all. I sighed, taking a look at the time, and began going through the headlines.

A few hours passed, and with repeated yawns and an aching back I had begun to doubt my ability to find anything. That, in addition to the doubt of my own sanity. It had been a mistake to have had only skimmed the frontpage of each newspaper, as I had cleared the pile once over with no results, and was then forced to redo them all in more detail. More time passed, and my resolve had just about weakened to a point of giving up or at least screaming. Right before I finally flung the collective media around the room, however, I at last came across some words of hope. 'Missing Children – Local Branch of Popular Kid's Restaurant Chain Under Investigation.' My eyes widened, the sudden confirmation that at least parts of my experiences may have been real smacking me over the head. I swept the paper up to my face.

'Over the weekend, five children between the ages of four and eight were reported missing by their families...' I scanned downward, bringing myself to the mention of the restaurant. 'This morning, police entered the restaurant in-force, halting the daily festivities. Investigators remained there throughout the day, and several objects were seen to have been removed, though a suspect has yet to be named. Upon reaching out to the owner of the store, she declined to comment on the nature of the investigation, but assured us that the branch will reopen tomorrow and that Freddy Fazbear's-''

'Yes!' I spat out, my voice sweeping throughout the quiet corridors of books. I looked to keep reading, ignoring the distant 'shh's' of other patrons.

''...and that Freddy Fazbear's [...] remains a safe, positive and fun environment for adults and children alike.' The location has only been operating since last month, the building having been renovated...' The article continued on, as did the pounding in my chest. It described how there were new animatronics built to replace the older models that had been transferred from a previous store, the building's immense layout, and of course the names and descriptions of the lost children.

I read and reread the posting, lusting after every detail. At length, my excitement began to dwindle. There was no mention of any 'bite,' let alone an outright death. So that was it then? Missing children? The police had been led to the site by some evidence or another, but the information was sparse at best. I did notice something of interest, though. The publication... it came from West of the city. Could the restaurant in the article have been the same which had housed the animatronics that were at my store? The story was unfinished, and so I quickly separated the papers into two piles – one for those of the same publication, and one for those of others. I checked the dates, and before long I had found more reports.

The children had disappeared over the weekend, yes, but they had somehow been 'selected' from those who had only just previously visited Freddy's. Or at least that was what the paper said. The investigation had been short, and the procedure of it all was not fully explained. What was said, though, was that there had been an arrest made on a man working at the pizzeria at the time, having been charged with the kidnapping of the kids, who hadn't been found. But that wasn't even the best (well, really, worst) part of it. What renewed my spirit and excitement was that not long after – maybe a day or so, I couldn't be sure – another article had been published about the restaurant; this one was not in relation to the children that had gone missing. I shuddered as I read it, the vague descriptions being more than enough to prod my mind. Apparently, one of the kids had been bitten by an animatronic, though the paper didn't say which. But it did mention that the child had been left alive afterward and was hospitalized immediately, the front part of their head having been completely removed. The restaurant was closed that same day, and the new animatronics were scrapped.

I put the newspaper down among the others and stretched upward in the chair I sat in. 'The Bite of '87.' I nodded to myself in awe, slowly absorbing the strange truth. If the voicemail hadn't been from my imagination, then the reality of everything else was unquestionable. At least I had confirmed my sanity. I smiled, glad to find I wasn't nuts. There were still questions though. What had happened to the man who was charged, and were the missing kids ever found? Why and how did an animatronic bite a kid? Well, I sort of had the answer for that, I supposed. But which animatronic? It was probably one of the ones that had been new, considering the survival of the 'originals characters.' I checked my watch, noticing that it was getting far too late for my tastes if I was to check back at Freddy's as well as get some decent sleep. Tediously but urgently, I placed the papers back where I had found them and made my leave; I would have to do further digging another day.

'Oh, h-hey-hey there, k-kids! W-welco-come to-' I shut the backstage door, ending Freddy's intro and squelching the noise of the small group of kids crowded around stage. It was a busy day for the place, that much was for sure. I thumped downstairs to make for the office; I didn't think Tom realized I was there, which was probably for the best, as who knew what he would do if he found out that I was snooping around? I entered the room and rubbed my temples, a wave of tiredness passing through me. It couldn't be like the library – I'd have to get my investigation done quickly were I to have any sleep at all.

I sifted through the documents, reminiscing in agony at its familiarity to my prior task, and quickly came across some interesting things. Unexpectedly, employment records for everyone who had worked at the store were not secured at all, and I smirked as I went through them, feeling a tad criminal. There were a ton of them, though – probably over fifty – which I found odd, given the sparse membership of the current staff. In fact, the records didn't go far back at all – only a year or two. There had been a lot of traffic in and out during that time, in terms of employees. I cocked my head in a shrug. That probably was a given, considering the actual nature of the job, let alone the night-shift. I continued searching, brushing aside anything of menial concern such as ledgers. I wondered why there were even such things downstairs, seeing as how no manager appeared to even visit the place; it was astounding that anything got done at all.

Shortly, I came across something of interest – a manifest detailing objects transferred from the previous store. Included, of course, were the animatronics, along with mentions of extra endoskeletons and suits, and even a golden Freddy suit, of which I noted I had never seen. I glanced over the rest of the contents and then locked eyes on the departure location at the top. My heart both dropped in fear and throbbed with thrill. It was the same restaurant that had been mentioned in the newspapers – the same restaurant in which 'the bite' had occurred. I grinned slightly, having finally put some of the pieces of the story together, and began looking through the other documentation involving the animatronics. I found files on each of them, most of which contained information pertaining to their programming and mechanics, as well as dates and details of repairs to their forms. I stopped for a moment on some of the programming documents, practically drooling over the idea of hooking up a computer to one of the creatures, but then remembered what exactly I would be meddling with and quickly moved on. One page among the folders contained yet another record of transportation, which went back (in Freddy's case, at least) to the early 70's. I traced my finger down the short listing, curious to see if any of names were of those I knew. And I saw the restaurant I had visited as a child.

Whereas the previous discovery had left me joyful, this one brought me only horror. I hadn't thought it possible, given my conversation with George from before I had joined on, but... the same animatronics which had been hunting me, were those which I had enjoyed as a child? Truly? All those times I had been near them, innocently playing games and feeling safe... had I not been? I sighed, my nostalgia destroyed by fear and betrayal. And Foxy... what about him? I grabbed his folder, and begrudgingly took a look at the sheet.

'Yeah...' I echoed, the pit in my stomach growing. I wasn't sure why I felt the way I did, or even how I felt at all. But the words were there, too, casually scribbled down on the line. My childhood play-place. So... the Foxy I had made friends with was the same one upstairs? I raised my head to the ceiling, as if I could somehow see through concrete, before lowering my eyes to stare at the paper blankly. I was unable to pull myself from the thought, and the feelings that accompanied it. He was here. He was the same. It was him all along. In a swift motion I shuffled everything up and put it back to how it had been.

The trio's song hummed in my ears – the same song I had heard so many times as a child. I was standing in front of the curtains just as I had when I had first walked into the restaurant three days ago. The past echoed through my senses and mind and heart. It felt like I wasn't even awake anymore. I didn't know where Tom was, but I didn't care, and so stepped onto the rise, parted the cloth, and slipped inside.

There he stood, the first time I had seen him up-close in a decade. And he was the same Foxy. He wasn't a pretty sight; his once-vibrant, crimson fur was matted like the others, but also torn across his chest and outright absent below his knees and from his hand; the exposed, silver endoskeleton was a painful contrast to his furry form of my memory. There wasn't much left of his tan pants, either, with all of its extra fluff having vanished and its remaining, blocky appearance dropping off to his naked legs in an ungainly fashion. His head was lowered in a visibly powered-off state, the one eye shut while another was masked by his patch. He had no hat as he had once worn, but his hook remained. I was only a foot or so away from him, the fox being perched quite close to the Cove's entrance. I took a step forward, my breath held still not out of fear or anticipation, but rather consumed in the past. My head now reached to level with the bottom of his skeletal neck, and I extended an arm to place a palm on his chest. I rubbed my fingers into the lighter shades of his fur, ignoring the grime.

'Foxy.' I whispered it, not out necessity, but because I felt solemn. 'It's me. Do you remember me?' I moved closer, sending my hand up to below his eyes and brushing it down the bridge to the cold, black of his nose. It moved to rub where his whiskers would be, if he had any, and then traced the length of a fang down his closed mouth. I looked to his shut eyelids, hoping for a response, though I knew I would get none. I brought my arm down with a sigh. 'Suppose you couldn't say, anyway.' He wasn't on, of course, but what did that matter? He was just a machine. Even in my youth I had known that. But then why had he acted so strangely with me back then?

I shook my head, freeing myself from some of the illusion of past. What were these things anyway? Animatronics that acted outside of the realm of possibility, that hunted me, that seemed cognizant of cameras, and had hurt people before. Forget everything else – what were they? If they did indeed act beyond possibility, then that meant that the answer was an impossibility itself. Was I being too narrow, too restrictive in my thoughts? What if... there were things beyond what I knew – what anyone knew – that explained all of it? What if I was to let go of possibility, if only for a moment? It wouldn't be hard, considering how I felt.

'I...' But how to phrase it? If he heard me – if he understood – what should I say? 'I... don't know if you can understand this, but...' No, that's not right. Start with familiarity. Speak from the heart. He knows me. 'I know you're the same one. I mean, you're... you. We met when I was a child. It was the early 1980's, if that means anything.' A pressure began to push against my chest. It felt good just talking to him – to find some comfort among all the strangeness.

'I'm Armin. I was the one you used to play with, when the other kids didn't want to. You'd talk to me... differently. You were always different with me. And I always wanted to be a part of whatever you were doing.' Was I romanticizing it too much? 'I was the kid with those huge braces.' I looked down and away from him, trying to remember what I would have worn when young, but falling short of the goal. 'I'm sorry I left you, if you're upset. I know I never said goodbye. I mean, well, we all grew up. There was a lot going on... But I'm back now... Look... you know I work here now, right? Night shift. You were... looking at me, well, the camera... my first night. It was me. There's... a lot of weird stuff going on here. I'm tryin' to figure it all out as best I can, but... Look, if you're real... I mean, if you're... alive, or whatever, just... please try and give me a sign? Assuming you don't want to stuff me or whatever like the others... And assuming I'm not crazy...

I guess what I'm trying to say is, I'm still you're friend. I'll always be. I have a lot of good memories filled with you and that place. And it's nice to see you again. It's too bad they've taken such poor care of you...' I looked to the hole in his chest and ran a finger down the tear before sighing. 'Anyway, I should go. I'll, uh, see you tonight... I guess.' I turned and stepped to the curtains, my head and chest a-wobble. It didn't make much sense. I didn't know why I had said any of that. I glanced back over my shoulder before I exited, smiling sadly at his shaded form. I wasn't sure what I had expected. Still, though, it felt like I had made a difference by saying what I had. I wasn't sure why, but it felt that way.


	8. VI

Smoke obscured my vision, the sound of an exhale teasing my ears. Sleep, or rather, waking, often brought with it a return to reality, as had it with me then. What was I even doing? Foxy had turned me into a lunatic once again. A childhood friend, sure, but he wasn't alive, and I was made stupider for having even conversed with the thing. It was an easy delusion, steeped in nostalgia, but to any onlooker there would've been no justification. It was just a robot, programmed, for one sick reason or another, to hunt me down at night. So why did I keep coming back? The restaurant had torn apart what was left of my mind. I had only worked a few days, but it felt like so much longer. And why was that? Stress? Fear? Or just the return to society after weeks of isolation and sloth? I had lost my grounding, and was beginning to fall into the trap of waking-dream, as well as a few other vices. There was no point to continue my job there, that was the truth of it. There was no adventure in it, no real epiphany, only the elements of my own idiocy.

I puffed again. Vices, yeah. I had tried the habit a few times in my teenaged years but had prevailed against the temptation, staying the course of a more rewarding lifestyle. Yet there I was, driven by a sudden a desire to find a drug to relieve me of some of my burdens. I grinned to myself. Acquiring that release had demanded me to liberate some 'burdens' of my father, as well. He wouldn't notice, though, not when he awoke in the morning. I supposed that, too, could illustrate how far I was falling. My hygiene certainly was – I hadn't showered since I had arrived in the city days ago, not that I ever really interacted with people for it to make a difference. Sighing, I looked to the burning length between my fingers and then smothered it on the blacktop, flicking the bud away. The restaurant, my social life, delusions, depression, lack of self-care, and finally smoking. All of them were in one way or another connected, and all of them unhealthy. I stood, turning to the glass doors behind me. I had to make a change. That night's shift was going to be my last at Freddy's.

Hah, a fucking kid's place. It was an incredulous thought, even as I walked into the store. I had been fascinated with those childish characters and their odd mannerisms like some women did serial killers. It was impossible to take them seriously, though, at least during the day when things were normal, their giddy appearances and cheesy songs permeating the stage as a clown act would a carnival. But it wasn't day, and I glanced around looking for George. He was nowhere in sight, the distant thumping of stairs announcing his departure to below. My face went solemn, immediately regretting missing my chance with what little company had been offered me. Instead I was left with the animatronics, and so took my place before the stage. I stared up at Freddy, but he didn't return my gaze.

'So what's your deal?' I sneered, stretching a hand to his stomach to nudge him. 'What've you got in store for me?' My voice became a coarse whisper. 'I know there's gonna be something.' I hadn't seen him so much as twitch, to date. I knew how Bonnie and Chica acted, and Foxy seemed more a curiosity than a threat, but I didn't know shit about the main attraction. Well, nothing aside from what I had learned previously – that he was active in the dark. But really the entire restaurant had been dark the nights before, aside from the office, of course. Humming to myself in thought, my arm retreated. 'I don't like you,' I foreboded.

I had slept well, at least, but I hadn't been able to track down my father while he was in sober-land to ask him anything more about the conversation we had had. If it were even wise to ask. On the bright side, his cash had given me a sandwich in addition to my smokes. I crinkled its plastic enclosure in my hand, pacing into the security office; I was sure as hell not going to be caught out in the open when George hit the breakers. The lights beyond the doors flashed off. I noticed on the shifts before that he never used the front entrance to leave. I wondered what for, and if he secretly knew the risks of being around the robotic animals in the dark.

Munching on half of my sandwich, I had already closed both sides of the room to seal me shut. I figured I'd wait until midnight before reading, seeing as how I was always to receive a call. Sure enough, after some boredom-induced fiddling with my lighter and more temporary distractions, the phone began to ring. I picked it up and brought it to my ear with a sigh. What monstrous details would I learn of this time?

"...most people don't last this long!" I couldn't help but laugh. Yeah, I wonder why. "...uh, uh, I'm not implying that they die... tha-tha-that's not what I meant." He sounded real genuine. "...things start getting real tonight." Oh, joy. "If you happen to get caught an-and want to avoid getting stuffed into a Freddy suit, uh, try playing dead – you know, go limp. Then there's a chance that, uh, maybe they'll think you're an empty costume instead." I snorted. That was a good idea, actually. I had noticed there were some spare, if even worse-off costumes backstage that the animatronics weren't using. Why hadn't I thought of just taking the insides out and putting one on? It was too late for the night, in any case. "Uh, then again, if they think you're an empty costume they might try'ta stuff a metal skeleton into you." Oh. Well, there went that idea.

The message ended and I placed the receiver back onto its cradle, resuming my lighter-play. The excitement of the place having been sapped from me during my sleep, I wasn't sure if the anxiety or boredom plagued me more.

An hour or so later, I began to hear yet another new, odd noise, this one different from the typical sounds of movement and such. It was only occasional, either because of it actually being sparse or because of the never-ending clanking from the kitchen. Bonnie and Chica were active again, but I paid little mind to them nor the cameras as a whole, having left the view on Pirate's Cove as was habit while I continued with my book. The first time I had heard the sounds I had ignored them, but after a few more interruptions, I knew from experience that it was not my mind. I panned through the monitor, searching for the source of the ominous, deep giggling. I should have had guessed it, given from the noise's wavy, child-like tone, but I learned its source immediately upon coming across an empty stage. Freddy had finally joined in on the fun.

'I fuckin' knew it,' I sighed in an admission of defeat, 'what a creep.' I heard the laughter echo through the building once more, causing me to nervously glance around. If he was going to stalk me, he could at least be quiet about it. I grunted in disgust, continuing to look around the restaurant through the monitor, and shortly finding his face pressed to a camera in the likeness that Bonnie was so fond of displaying backstage. A shiver ran through me, the view being of just outside my right door. 'Whatever...'

I was deep into a majestic depiction of a dragon when I heard the ambient hum of the fan change to a lower pitch. Looking up from my book, I pondered at it for a moment and then marked my spot, lifting the handheld to my eyes. I found the rabbit and his oven-obsessed counterpart easily, but Freddy was nowhere in sight. I hadn't heard the dark chuckling for awhile, and checked and re-checked all of the cameras, but he was completely gone. Leaning back into my chair, a squint of confusion appeared on my visage. Illuminating the hallway beyond the windows, I found nothing to be there, and so shrugged softly and sat back down for my book, pushing the disturbance from my mind. Maybe a few minutes of reading later, I heard the fan's sound shift again and immediately looked up at it. Its blades shuddered and froze in odd intervals, and then everything flashed. I jumped to my feet, throwing my book onto the table, and looked up at the ceiling. The light flickered again.

'No! No, no, no, no, no, no!' I raised my arms in defiance and disbelief, clasping my fingers shut in an effort to think. The power – the man on the phone and Tom both had warned me about the power. They had warned me about keeping the room shut. What if the electricity went off? Would the doors...?

I slid underneath the desk, brushing aside cobwebs with a shudder, frantically unplugging everything from the wall. 'No, no, no. Don't do this to me...' I continued to pray to myself. My work finished, I stared at the cords dangling down, uprooted for their sockets. It had to be enough. My life depended on it. I looked to the ceiling again, realizing that I had no way to shut off the light. Seconds passed. A few more, and then it flickered again.

'Fuck!' I yelled all-too-loud, becoming more and more terrified. I glanced at the windows, a look of pure doom reflecting at me from the black. I wouldn't know if there were even anything there without using the hall lights, and I wasn't about to risk that. I was hyperventilating, thousands of thoughts of a horrible, excruciating end filling my mind. Stumbling over to the back wall, I crumbled into a ball, my eyes anxiously locked on the light above. Maybe it had been a fluke. Maybe the things in the room had just coincidentally started going faulty all at once. It flickered again, this time more pronounced. My eyes began to tear up as I shook my head manically. I shouldn't have had turned up for the shift, I hadn't even wanted to. Why? Why did I show up? Why did I not listen to the signs telling me quit? It was because of my habits, my pitiable habits. It was because of the complacent siren-call of a horrible disorder. Ach, but that didn't matter anymore.

'Please...' I whispered to the doors, my voice beginning to choke up, 'please don't...' I felt sick, terribly so. My blood had overheated my innards and skin, sweat forming to soak my shirt. The yellow hue of the room disappeared again, reappearing a moment later. What had I done? Why had I wasted so much time and energy enveloping myself in such a world? Such a... deathtrap. It all had happened so quickly... four days ago I had been hours away from the office, living in a quiet town. I had hated it then, but as I stared at the steel between myself and the outside, I yearned for it. I'd give anything to have back those times, even with what little good they had been. My father, my financial troubles, my old job. I just wanted it back. I had given up so much in having my chance at my adventure, my escape. I had given up so much, and I had signed my death. The flashing increased in frequency, becoming more off than on.

'I'm so fucking stupid,' I uttered in a self-pitying moan. The light went out. I held my breath. My teeth wanted to chatter, but I refused to let them make noise, my body shivering nonetheless. I didn't want to die. I had wanted to so many times before, but I no longer did. Not being dragged off by one of those horrible things and crushed to a pulp, my bones splintering and my insides popping out. Maybe the doors would hold. Maybe the doors would hold.

The silence was piercing, or maybe it was the ringing, fear-fueled ache my brain. Then it was shattered by the sound of the doors retreating. My eyes squinted shut, fluid beginning to run down my cheeks. All I felt was terror, my head hanging heavier than the entirety of my body. I wanted to pass out. I hoped I would, prayed I would, but the eternity of waiting continued. I had my lighter, but I dared not create a flame for comfort, nor even to open my eyes. I couldn't bear the thought of finding one of them in front of me, of staring into their lifeless face. I listened in dread. Off in the distance, I began to hear soft footfalls on the floor. I half-moaned, half-squealed, torn between crying and screaming. They grew nearer, and my eyelids clenched tighter, my arms squeezing around myself in an embrace. The footsteps arrived just to the left of me. It was at the door.

I jolted to the jingle of music, a quiet groan escaping me as light flashed through the skin covering my vision. It sounded of a child's music box – a happy song, but utterly haunting. It was a demon's chime, one played to torture souls. It went on and on, lulling me into a false notion of safety. I began to relax, even though I didn't want to. I knew it was false. I loathed its notes. But they were so... welcoming.

An unearthly screech penetrated my being, my eyes flicking open of instinct. There were no thoughts, nor time to scream. No last words, only a reddish blur, a pressure on my skull, and then nothing.

Warm. That was the first feeling. Warm, and soft. I had no mind, only those sensations. Soon there were other things too, though I knew not what they were. Black. Yes, that was what it was called. Absolute black. It was all around me, but the warmth wasn't. No, that tepidness was only above my legs. Legs? I tried to move them, but if I did I couldn't tell. I continued to feel. The heat concentrated on my head. It was so very strong. Was it heat, or..? Pain. A searing pain. I stirred again, the irritation rushing down my face and into my spine. It wasn't intense, but I didn't want to feel it anymore. I relaxed, letting the pulses of it throb, throb, and then fade.

I tried thinking, whatever that was; images flashed by as only blurs, their meaning escaping me. I concentrated on them, for how long I couldn't know. Slowly, though, I began to remember. Who I was... Human. My body. I tried my arm then, the familiar softness that enclosed my body brushing against it. And then memories began to wash over me. My life, the restaurant, the lights. The darkness. Was I dead? I hadn't been much of a believer, but if it were true then death wasn't at all what we thought. Maybe I had been stuffed into a suit. That would explain the sensations, if I were somehow still alive. But I was tired, so tired. If I were bleeding out into one of those costumes, I'd rather do it in my sleep...

I awoke again, realizing more of my senses. It seemed I wasn't dying after all, otherwise I should have had done so while at rest. Shifting a smidge, the softness continued to lay against me; I turned to my side, noticing that I had been propped up against something. That something was frigid and hard, an annoying contrast to the gentle warmth over most of the rest of me. I was comfortable regardless. It felt safe, unlike before. Before...

My body contracted. Fear. I remembered why I had been afraid and immediately felt that reason creep back into my heart. Where the fuck was I? I turned some more, this time being sure that whatever change in position I made was as subtle as could be. My fingers moved up to brush against the object draped over my body, judging it a fabric of some kind. It wasn't a costume, though, being much more loose and figure-fitting than those bulky things. And it didn't smell. I continued to follow my hand along it. The fibers ran from my waist to up and over my head, shielding my vision from my surroundings, not that I even wanted to see. Was it a... blanket? I couldn't still be at Freddy's if it were true, could I? My other hand reached to gently prod at my forehead, returning to me the same pain of before as my face contorted. It hurt like a bitch, and I begrudgingly felt around the wound, a wide but shallow gash that had all but dried closed. It spanned from far above the mid-point of my left eye to the bridge of my nose, blood having crusted all across my cheek and ear.

I attempted to restrain myself in my panic. Whatever had happened, I was still alive, and given how I clearly remembered coming face-to-face with one of them before being knocked out, I was most likely safe. But I still had to know where I was. After checking all of my limbs and organs to be as they should and finding myself otherwise unharmed, I gently went into my pocket and located my lighter. Rather convenient, really, that I had picked it up that night. I didn't want to open my eyes, terror having replaced sleepiness in its duty of holding my pupils blind, but I couldn't remain as I was forever. I squinted, attempting to make out anything through my eyelashes. All I could see was black. I flicked them apart and continued viewing the same; if this was a blanket, there were certainly no lights on beyond it. That thought alone increased my dread, the idea of still being at the restaurant – and at night, nonetheless – becoming a more and more likely possibility.

Raising the blanket with one hand to create a tepee, I brought the lighter to the gap and sparked it to life. I did it without pause, and when the flame first appeared I realized that if I had been about to see something awful I was not prepared. But all that showed was the dance of the fire, and its shadows and highlights against what I now confirmed to be the blanket. Looking at my watch, I saw it was half past five of what I assumed to be the morning, and then eased my thumb, releasing the light into the beyond. I had only needed a glimpse. I wasn't about to let whatever had put me there know I was awake. The time, though, was concerning. If I were indeed still at the store then that meant the animatronics remained active. Regardless, I desperately needed fresh air and so began to lower the top of the fabric over my face.

Everything kept as black as it was. At least the lighter had helped to ensure I wasn't blind. I laid there, quietly sweeping the cool oxygen into my lungs, and began to wait. After a few minutes I hoped that my eyes would begin to adjust to darkness, so that I wouldn't have to use a light. There was none of that, though, and so I continued my rest for some while, before at length going back under the covers to check the time. 6:07. I sighed softly, the dread of checking my surroundings overcoming what little relief the change of the hour had to bring. I peeled the covering off of my body and methodically moved into a kneel.

My hands wandered around the ground, quickly deducing it to be concrete, if not the exact same type as was in the restaurant. I extended them outward and moved them in a circle parallel to the floor, my right arm running into something papery with more noise than I would have had preferred. I grimaced, freezing, waiting for any response from around me, but hearing none. I exhaled in a silent breath of relief and groped whatever it was I had hit with my hand. It seemed like cardboard or something, but certainly no metal beast. I took out my lighter once again and cupped my other hand over it in what I imagined to be a likely-futile attempt to dim some of the impending light. Standing, I knew I had to do it. My mind kept telling me that, but hated myself for it. Spinning the flint, I triggered the flame.

Before me appeared a maroon, textured wall. I squinted at it, trying to remember of any blue walls in Freddy's, but couldn't. I turned to my left, observing it continue at its right angle to come around a foot and a half out from me before turning to my back. Glimpsing a change in hue, I looked down to where the wall met the floor and saw the painted forms of waves upon it. My eyes widened as I realized where I was – a depiction recalled from the memory of my previous day. Which meant that...

I ground my teeth and labored my head to the right, my heart plummeting as I laid my eyes on what I had feared. There, only a few feet away, stood the towering robot fox, his body turned from me, his head lowered in the usual fashion.

My breath halted. It was past six, I knew that, but the idea that I had been there for so long as well as having been conscious as he was... active... was mortifying. I locked my eyes on him, unable to look away either out of the fear that if I turned, so should he, or by the captivation that he had somehow let me live. Was he the red blur I had seen, then? The one that had struck me? My free hand went to my head, feeling the wound on my skull in reminder. Why had he done it if not to hurt me? Was it possible that he meant to help? And what about the others? My eyes gazed carefully down and away from him, my arm returning to its side. The flame flickered quietly, casting shadows on Pirate's Cove.

The object I had run my hand into before was one of the multitude of cardboard cutouts illustrating various props, which I imagined were used for when he had shows. Additional waves, old ships, and the like. I realized then that I had been placed behind one such depiction and that it was fair in height; it would have hidden me from anyone – or anything – looking in. With that thought my expression turned humble, and I knelt down, slightly more comfortable in breaking my vision from the fox. Bringing the blanket that had covered me to my eyes, I could then see it was red on the outside, as opposed to the bland grey that lined its belly. The former was a sort of silk, cool and soft to the touch, while the reverse was of a thicker material and provided warmth. I toyed with it in my hands, flopping it around and searching for anything of note, but found nothing. I didn't recall from yesterday there having been a blanket near Foxy, but then again I hadn't been very observant, and it could have laid hidden in any number of places. But why was it in the cove at all?

I glanced back up, reassuring myself of his unmoved nature. Carefully placing the object back into its corner against the cardboard and the wall, I took a step forward toward the animatronic. Whether or not he had intended to, he had sheltered me. I had yet to have found any absolute evidence of the others, at least, having killed in the past, but all signs had pointed to my demise that night. I was sure of that. Maybe they weren't malicious, and never would have had actually done me in, but that didn't explain their behavior, nor the decision to gash and then bring me where I was by Foxy. At least, I figured he was the one who had struck me. I pondered him, taking in his brightly-lit form from behind. With his head down and shoulders hunched forward he appeared almost sad, as if he were crying. I admitted, for a moment, that I felt bad for him, an additive to the great appreciation I was feeling for his having hid me. Was he only a machine, or was there more to it? I quickly shook my head. Again with those thoughts.

I trod closer and brought myself to within a few inches of him. I was afraid, and that fear grew as I neared, but scared or not, it was clear he had decided against hurting me that night. He had decided to shelter me. I didn't know what that meant for the future – if there was any at Freddy's – but there and then, I figured I was safe. He was turned off anyway. I reached out to him, placing my hand on his shoulder. I wasn't sure what I had intended by it, but I found myself rubbing his fur, as if in a gesture of comfort. I was not in a nostalgia-induced daze as I had been the day before, and I was not in disregard of my own sanity. No, this was something different. It was a simple thanks. Part of me wished that he would come to life, if only to see it. I wondered what I would've done in that case. I'd've probably jumped back and cowered. I smiled. Maybe not.

I looked over my shoulder, remembering the blanket. Removing my fingers from his costume, I moved to retrieve it and then draped it over his shoulder, the vivid red of its top a contrast to his own, dulled color. I stepped to his side and continued looking upon him for a moment. I felt as if I should say something, but I didn't know what. His hook reflected in the light of the flame, and I could see the crimson tint of what appeared as blood on it. Extending a finger, I confirmed that truth, and it certainly hadn't been there the day before – I had noticed that much. So then he really had been the one to knock me out. I had to confess, though, he looked as equally terrifying as the rest in the dark, and it was not a significant comfort to be beside him, but he had appeared innocent enough from his back. I sighed and shook my head. It was probably "goodbye," but I couldn't bear to speak it. It certainly wasn't a very respectable sign of gratitude, if that even meant anything to a machine. I turned to move toward the curtains.

Exhaling, I brought my hand to the cloth and once more reminded myself that it was safe. Parting it slightly, my eyes were rushed with the bleak light of the rising sun, and I could easily see Freddy, Bonnie, and Chica all idle on the stage. I gulped and then moved out, making a sharp left toward the back room. I made it there almost instantly, rushing downstairs to turn the store on. If not for my job's sake (which, again, I wasn't planning to continue), I was going to light up the place for my own peace of mind. The fusebox was swung open, and I at once noticed the switch for the security office to be flipped off. Shaking my head, I didn't even want to know, and swiftly turned everything back on.

I puffed on the best damn cigarette in the world, the high numbing my mind to the trauma of the night and the ever-present pain in my forehead. I had washed the wound out, but, having looked in the mirror, it wasn't exactly the looker. All things aside, Foxy sure had one hell of a swing, I just wondered why he couldn't've used his fist instead. I took another drag, watching the sky. The clouds were dark and looming in the distance; there would surely be a storm some time during the day. I'd have to skip on that fun, though; as soon as Tom arrived I was going straight home and to sleep. I wondered what he would say, if anything, at my gash. There were no two ways about it – I was going to find out just whether or not he knew what was going on. If he believed whatever lame excuse I'd make up, he was a liar. The growl of an approaching car signaled that truth to be soon known.


	9. VII

_I was captivated by the performance. It wasn't terribly long, lasting only thirty minutes or so, but to my six-year-old mind it seemed like hours. Foxy didn't impress as being forced or robotic like the other three had, even with his horrendously cheesy pirate accent. Perhaps it was because of a slightly more mature theme, or maybe the portrayal of his intended character. Regardless, by the time the display ended and he broke out into his own silly song I no longer felt ashamed at having been forced to watch. My parents were certainly pleased at my lack of further protest, and so we continued to listen until the animatronic retreated back into the curtains and the shows took a scheduled intermission. Our pizzas consumed and the night growing late, my mother ushered my tired self home._

_The next few weeks were absent of any visits to Freddy's. I initially found myself recanting the dialogue and events of the pirate's show in bed each night, but as time went on I slowly forgot him. When I did eventually return, it was on a different day and at a different time, and I was allowed to go off into the game room because of my prior good behavior. I gladly took advantage of the opportunity, but found myself distracted by the sounds coming from the main area. When I heard Foxy's voice enter the fray, I remembered how I had enjoyed myself and abandoned my games, returning to my parents' sides at their table. They were delighted to see me being social, but my young mind wasn't disciplined enough to give them the same courtesy; I was too busy focusing on the stage._

_It was a different show than had been the last – less about stealing pizza and more about sailing and whatnot. I couldn't pull myself away, quietly mesmerized as the fox paced to and fro, chanting in his slanged persona as to all things cliche. I enjoyed it but it was embarrassing to me, the clown act a mockery of my perceived age and masculinity similar to how playing with dolls would be; I looked around the room, seeing that the other kids were much younger, only a few of them paying any real attention. Or maybe that was just my imagination._

_At one point the animatronic paused at the tip of the stage and peered across the room, asking for volunteers. Something pushed me to action and I slowly raised my hand into the air. I kept it there, barely past my head, for far too long, feeling as if the whole room was watching me. My mind didn't understand why there was such a delay, but at last I and two others were called before him. _

''_N what be yer names, children?' the furred maw smiled as I and the others looked up. We all murmured our responses, some coy, some confident, and waited as the robot continued to stare. 'It be nice to meet ye!' I shuddered under his gaze, looking more than a little worried, though whether that was because of the crowd or his intimidating demeanor I didn't know. Shortly, we were brought on-stage by an employee and each given cardboard swords. We acted out scenes as the pirate told of his tale, an epic of various sea battles and the like. The two other kids were having a blast, and while I admitted it was fun I was continually distracted by the red figure facing away from me. _

_Our fame wasn't permanent, and a few minutes later we were led back to our tables. My mother was overjoyed to have witnessed my participation, quickly offering me repeated encouragement and praise when I begun to hold my blushed cheeks in my hands. It had been too much attention for my shy self to handle, and I also felt weird for liking Foxy as much as I did. I certainly didn't understand it, but it was the truth._

* * *

'Hey- Oh. What happened to your face?' Tom stood aside his car, the door ajar, his arm resting on the metal. His eyes were glazed over, his mouth parted, face sagging down to appear not concerned but something else entirely. I remained seated on the curb, smoke rising from my hand as it rested on the concrete. Observing the man silently, I made my best effort at reading his expression with what limited skills I possessed. After a moment or two I stood, taking another drag, and approached him.

'Aw, it's nothin' really,' I grinned, my voice at ease. 'Just tripped on a pan in the kitchen and nailed myself on the corner.' I hadn't touched the kitchen after Chica's onslaught and it was undoubtedly a mess. I hoped he'd call me out on it – why had there been a pan on the floor anyway? Tom continued to stare, his lips slowly returning to a closed position; I took a final suck on the cigarette before dropping it at our feet and smushing it into the pavement.

'Ah,' he concluded at length. 'Yeah.' His brow contorted for only a second, 'You should try not to do that.' The expression in his voice wasn't worried, nor particularly shocked, but bored. Too bored, really, and it sounded forced. His face returned to its typical stern glare.

'Uh huh.' My own tone mimicked his blandness in an attempt to show my skepticism. I held my ground, the conversation having yet to end in my mind, the whispering rumble of thunder sounding from far in the distance. Silence passed.

'Everything's good though,' he reassured. From anyone else it would have been a question, but it wasn't from him.

'Yeah,' I smirked again, 'everything's good.' He nodded slowly and then at once broke away, striding beyond me toward the doors. I turned to watch him as he did, and he himself turned upon opening them.

'See you tonight, then,' he paused. I continued our custom of breaks in the conversation, letting the awkwardness soak through.

'See you tonight.' Not like he was going to be there, anyway.

I curled in my bed, my knees brought to my arms, a position that somehow made me comfortable though I would've presumed otherwise. I wanted to cry, the events of the shift and my almost-death having begun to sink into me. Rain pattered against the window, tiny scouts of the approaching storm's forces. My father hadn't been awake, as was typical, but I wondered what he would say when he did inevitably see my head. Perhaps it'd rekindle some of the feelings he associated with the name 'Freddy's' so as to tell me more. Not that it mattered; the place was dead to me. And Tom was a liar, with George likely one as well. Tom's face, his mannerisms, the pauses – everything had pointed toward it. And at any normal job you'd have to fill out a report about an accident, but he hadn't even cared. Maybe he knew of the (likely illegal) clause in the employment contract I had signed, then. The one that I had forgotten to take a look at...

Awakening, I was in a sweat, my sleep having once more been filled with nightmares. Ever since I had begun working at the restaurant I hadn't been able to escape them. Some were motivating, and hinged on the mystery which continuously enveloped my spirit, while others were of garden-variety horrors. I had always had a knack for remembering dreams, and one of them beforehand had proven the most disturbing. In it, I was sat in the office, but for some reason I hadn't been able to move, as if I had been glued to the chair. I couldn't run, I couldn't scream, and I had to constantly monitor power usage lest the room go dark. It eventually did at which point I immediately woke, thinking little of it. But I should have had taken it to heart.

As I regained my consciousness I could tell the rain to be much louder, a persistent strum on my window. My eyes a-haze, I checked the time to be only five hours past when I had lain down, which I could've judged from the dim light in my window had my mind been in a more functioning state. I tried to go back to sleep but only effected to toss and turn, my brain torturing me with the images of Freddy and his friends popping out from the black. At length I rose with a groan, heading downstairs. My father was there, watching TV and popping open a beer. I figured sneaking by to do my morning routine would prove futile, and so went to sit beside him.

'Jesus Christ, Armin, what happened?' he exclaimed, a true expression of concern cascading over his face. My brow went up and then down in a drowsy, figurative shrug.

'Just... work,' I managed to mumble out, shaking my head slowly. 'You know...' I assured.

'Well are you alright?' He reached out to touch my gash but I pulled away before he could. The last thing I needed was an infection. 'You want a doctor?'

'I'm fine, Dad,' I sighed. He continued his look of worry, his arm retreating to his side.

'What happened?' he pushed, his voice turning serious. I lowered my eyes in thought.

'You know those kids you told me about? While you were,' my pupils met his, 'uh, you know...' I paused, but he didn't seem to have anything to say. 'When was that exactly? You said you took me out, but when? You know what I mean?'

He was silent, but then nodded a bit. 'Yeah... well... yeah, surprised I told you.' A finger raised, scratching his cheek. 'We, uh... I'm not sure... long time ago. Does it have to do with your cut?' he pleaded.

I thought for a moment, but decided against the truth. 'No,' I spoke softly.

'Well then, uh... yeah, uh, I don't know,' he resolved. 'Early Eighties? Maybe late Seventies. It's when we took you out, at least. Dunno when those kids up and vanished. Sorry you had to hear about that...' He reached out again, this time patting my shoulder. I grimaced lightly, accepting my fate.

'It's fine,' I replied, waving it off.

Having escaped a legitimate explanation to my father, I decided on a drive around town, eventually finding myself at a park of some kind. I wandered into the space beyond its play area and over to a tree; the sky was pouring, but I needed time and distance to think. I was in a severe state of unrest; whereas the day before had brought me to reality, I was now led once again into fantasy, my emotions and imagination teasing what little remained of my patience. I wanted to go back to Freddy's.

'Why the fuck – what the fuck is wrong with me!' I slammed my fist into the bark and then repeated the process, splintering its skin as well as my own. 'Why can't I just... live! Back and forth,' I gritted through my teeth, 'back and forth... it never ends. Why... why do I want to... ugh!' Shaking my head, my knees lowered to kneel before the roots that ran into the ground. I began to weep, a culmination of hundreds of emotions finally breaking free. Continuing to mutter various curses and explanations and questions for some time before regaining control of myself, my clothing became soaked. It felt good, though, the rain being at last a relief from my grimey skin.

What was wrong with me? That question continued to run through my nerves. It was the sum of it all, but I didn't have the answer. The truth was that I was broken – my focus had kept fluctuating from one idea to another. On one day I'd want to continue my job – to learn more as to what had happened, to escape the mundanity of my life and to find some purpose in it. The next I wouldn't, the candor of danger both to my corporeal and my spirit overriding the nonsensical desires that possessed me. Each time I had convinced myself that my resolve had been set, and until just then I hadn't even realized it for the lie that it was. That was the real extent of the delusions – the disease. I had and continued to act without understanding, without reason. But I couldn't do it anymore, I couldn't keep going down my path of chaos. If the restaurant didn't kill me, my lack of commitment would. And that indecisiveness surely had damaged other aspects of my life, even if I couldn't see it.

I wanted to be well. I wanted to be free of whatever curse held me and to just be able to live. But how? How, if I couldn't even trust my own brain? But maybe that was the answer. Maybe if I couldn't make a decision – a thought-out, reasonable decision – the correct path was to simply... let it all go. Maybe it was better to completely trust in my instincts. But that thought brought a fear into me much worse than any I had felt at Freddy's, even when I had faced my death. It pervaded me – the sense that I had no control anymore, not even of my own mind.

Standing, I turned from the tree and looked upon the small field that was the park. Walking out from under the branches, the sky cracked as I raised my head and released my tongue with closed eyes, catching the falling water as a child would. The storm, at least, brought a certain kind of calm to me, even with the looming threat of electrocution. I wasn't scared of that, though. Perhaps I wasn't scared of anything, anymore.

Did I even have anything to lose? My mind and soul were shattered, my life unremarkable. I had no one to live for and no motivation to improve. Everyday had been a chore, those last months. So what was the point of going on if I wasn't willing to gamble a little? If I ended up dying, whatever, I didn't care. I just wanted to go back. And I had always wanted to go back, even the day before – even when I had tried to convince myself so thoroughly not to. That was what my instincts asked of me – that was what my gut desired. And why? Because of my fucked up head, or was it Foxy? Had it been him all along, my childhood companion? It might've been; he had captivated me on the very first night, and without even thinking about it I had continually left the camera facing him in particular. Maybe it was he who kept me so enamored. But it didn't matter that I didn't know, anymore. I had to trust my instincts.

I lowered my face from the clouds and walked back to the minute shelter of the birch's branches. How had the previous night even occurred? One of them had messed with the breakers and cut my power, it wasn't hard to tell. It had to have been Freddy; neither Chica nor Bonnie had ever so effectively fucked with me... if only I had opened my eyes to see who had been playing the music. And what was to stop them from getting inside the office again? Well, maybe the same thing that had stopped them from killing me. Foxy had protected me once, but would he a second time? And what did that even mean? I rolled my eyes, reminding myself that it no longer mattered. If I was damned regardless, the restaurant was my chosen method of death.

On the short walk back to my car I thought as to the kitchen and Foxy's hook and what they would signal to my coworkers. Obviously Tom would notice the mess, but I doubted he nor George would dare mention it, at least if they were going to try and continue in their charade. And the hook? That was the most obvious clue as to what had really happened; if they saw that they would absolutely know, and if they cleaned off the blood so would I of them. It was funny, actually, considering that both of our parties, if I was correct in my assumption, were already aware of what each other knew. What point was the proof? Tom was a liar, and as for George I'd have to see.

I arrived thirty minutes ahead of my scheduled shift, having a smoke beforehand in preparation of my confrontation with George. It had continued raining all day, and so I tried to keep myself dry under the roof as I waited. Hopefully he would be upfront with me about what was going on.

Walking inside, I made my way to the ground-level office, passing the idle animatronics without much of a care. As expected, George was sitting there, a slice of pizza held to his mouth. I watched him for a moment through the window, musing to myself at my position and behavior being similar to that of Chica's. Finishing his meal, he picked up the plate and stood to move out the door.

'Holy!' he jolted, nearly flinging the plate into the air. I couldn't help but laugh.

'Hey there,' I brought my hand up in a gesture of greeting.

'Damnit, man, don't do that to me,' he gasped, sitting back down. He paused before continuing. 'How's your face, anyway?'

'Eh, it's alright,' I brushed the query off, continuing to smile as I walked in to join him. 'Sorry 'bout that.'

'It's okay,' he settled with a slight chuckle. 'So what's up?'

'I've just got a few questions. Take it you heard Tom 'bout my night?'

'Uh,' George muttered, his eyeballs dancing, 'yeah, sucks to hear. Nasty things, those counters,' he laughed off.

'Yeah,' I replied, nodding. 'Hope I didn't get any blood anywhere,' I joined him in his mirth.

'Nope!'

'Well that's good. Hey, noticed you don't leave from the front, how come?' I asked innocently.

He squirmed a little, shrugging gently. 'Nah. Just quicker by the back. Can't enter that way though, sure you noticed it's one-way.'

'Uh huh,' I affirmed, 'makes sense. Oh, yeah, I was wondering... Foxy, you know, the one that's out of order? You ever know when he'll be getting fixed up?' The question itself brought me a bit of sadness, reminded again of his rundown appearance.

'Don't think it'll be for awhile,' he responded, his expression turning quizzical, 'why d'ya ask?'

'No reason,' I shrugged, 'just that he's my favorite and all.' We both chuckled. 'Why was he put out of service, again?'

'Told you it was because of the budget shit. Broke down, didn't have enough to fix him, is all.'

'Well why'd he break down?' I pressed.

'I dunno, man,' said George, his voice becoming noticeably annoyed. 'Why d'ya care? We've got three perfectly good ones to run the show.' He saw my face become solemn and sighed. 'I think it was just old age, or whatever you'd call it for those things. None of 'em seen a mechanic in forever, you know?'

'Yeah, I know,' I surrendered.

George and I talked for a bit as to the going-ons in our lives, but my mind was elsewhere. We quickly agreed for him to leave early, and so I was left alone to the office and the dark.

I checked my watch, reading fifteen-to-eleven before continuing my inspection of the monitors. I didn't have the doors shut, though every sense urged me otherwise. What was it that made some so brave while others cowered? Fear, and courage... such odd concepts. As I sat there tapping my foot I could feel the former pulsing in my veins. I was going to die that night. Whether or not I actually would, that was what my brain told me. There was a feeling that struggled against it, though, very faint but extraordinarily comforting. It was safe, it was familiar, and so with a quiet cuss I rose to meet it.

Pacing into the dark corridor, I dared not bring my flashlight to bare. I knew it to be that the animatronics weren't yet active – that they couldn't be active – but then that knowledge hadn't helped me much before. Still, if I was going to be coming back to the restaurant over and over I had to at least overcome my fear of the dark... and then hopefully my fear of them; I had to have faith in the feeling that drove me. Holding fast in the hallway, I let my eyes adjust and watched the shadows of the trio slowly outline against the wall on their stage. After a minute or two I could see rather well, and so began my descent into the horror.

It was a long journey filled with many pauses and more than a few startles, but amidst the soothing sound of rain on the roof and my own courage-speckled heart I arrived at Pirate's Cove. I hadn't set out to be there, but it was where I ended up nonetheless. It was fitting, in any case; I hadn't said anything to Foxy the last night, and he certainly deserved some thanks. And maybe... just maybe... in speaking to him so near to his active state would he respond. If he could hear me while turned off, that was, let alone comprehend. It didn't register as being a logical possibility, but the feeling told me he could. It made me believe he could.

I glanced at my watch once again. 11:07. Twenty minutes to the void because of my own cowardice, even if it was appropriate. My breath caught and my hand moved to the curtain, parting it ever-so-slightly as I braced myself for the worst. What was I so afraid of? He had helped me only just the night before, after all. The others – to my side and behind, quite out-of-view – they should've been my true fear, and yet there I was, cringing at the idea of what awaited me behind the fabric, imagining his vulpine fangs greeting me in blood. The linen began to part. Nothing jumped out at me or grabbed hold of my arm. Instead, rather innocuously, the shadowed shell of the animatronic fox came into view, slouched-over and lifeless.

I could only make out his silhouette, his ears lowered, arms dragging at his sides. My eyes froze on him, waiting for movement with curious dread, but he did not so much as twitch. I gulped in air, remembering at once that I hadn't breathed in some time, and took a timid step beyond the curtain, being sure to make no sound. My paces were short and calculated, pausing between each for tens of seconds as I watched the form warily. No movement. I grew closer.

Behind me, the curtain returned to its natural position, blocking out what little light there was and making my vision near impossible. Foolish; I should have had actually moved the damn thing across its beam, and I couldn't even begin to tease the idea of turning my back to rectify the mistake; I was cursed to wait for my eyes to eventually adjust with what little light passed between the floor and the linens. My heart slammed against my chest, my breathing inconsistent. Waiting next to the animatronic, nearly blind and so close to midnight, was not what I had intended, and the inaction proved destructive for my resolve.

As one sense faded another took its place, and the subtle sounds of the environment began to fill my head. I listened in fright, expecting at any moment to hear the horrible noise of metallic feet scraping against the concrete. There were none; only the quiet plopping of soft rain against the roof and various other natural happenings met my ears. And none of those creepy sounds from the previous nights, either. My breath settled slightly with a sigh. My vision had begun to reform in what capacity it could. The figure, less than a foot away from me, had become highlighted against the backdrop again, the blanket resting on a broad shoulder as I had left it.

'Foxy?' I muttered out before I could realize precisely what I was doing. My chest jolted, my face froze. My brain told me I had signed my doom – awakened the sleeping dragon, as it were. The notion urged me to run but my heart protested in defiance, pressing me off the logical path. Stupid, terrified... it didn't matter so long as the compulsion remained to understand why I was even still alive, and that was ignoring the desire to find the source of the feeling tumbling inside of me. And courage was the only way to illuminate it. I slammed my eyes shut, awaiting the fox's inevitable reaction.

Moments passed. I peeked through my lashes and stared down the machine before me. No movement, no noise. I let out a sigh, partly at my own silliness. Regardless of all that had happened I was still talking to only a piece of metal. That was what he was, of course. My considerations went to the night before and those before it, once more wondering if I was in some sort of dream world. Surely there was no possible way for my twisted nightmare to be real. But I pushed the ideas away, and the day's events and motivators came back to me – heart over mind, instinct over logic. I shouldn't think. I couldn't rationalize it. I was stuck, and I had to see it through. And even if I was crazy or about to die, no one was there to judge me. I had no reason not to continue.

'Foxy,' I gulped, my voice wavering, 'I-I wanted you to know...' I paused, considering my words. If then was to be different – if he truly could hear me – I had to be careful; I didn't want to end up upsetting something that could twist me half like a child would a twig, nor did I want to hurt my friend... What ever I was to say, it needed to be something honest, something unassuming.

'Just... thank you. Thank you for saving me,' I cooed.

Still no reaction. My standard breathing had resumed and although my heart was racing I was no longer as terrified. He didn't seem aware, at least. I wondered if that meant he wouldn't hear what I had to say. In that moment, though, I knew he would. I knew not only that, but also that he would understand my words. But could he respond, even if he wanted to? I had never considered it, but it was as likely as everything else that he was unable to speak. I didn't know how such strange, science-fiction things like sentient robots worked, after all. But if he could talk, and he did understand me, then I had to convince him to do so. I had to make a difference. Maybe a symbol – something he could use to show me he was there. I looked to the blanket. That'd work. I didn't have any time to think on a more sophisticated plan, in any case; it wouldn't be long until the hunt began.

Oh shit, the time. How long had it been? I brought my wrist up instinctively, straining to make out the hands of the dial in the darkness but failing in the effort. Paranoia crept into my mind, the idea of having remained out past midnight sending panic into my chest. My gaze went to the curtains, half expecting to see the ghastly face of that damned bunny peering in at me. There wasn't anything there, though, and so I nervously turned back to the dormant creature a pace away. What a joke. There I was, standing before something akin to what hunted me, and yet my fear was focused on the others outside. I considered the thought for a moment before shaking my head. I had to be swift.

'Uh... yeah... so... I-I guess if you understand me... I mean, of course you do, but...' I gulped. Come on, pull it together. 'Look, if- if you're not gonna hurt me, I need... I need some kind of sign. I always liked you, you know that, but-but- and I don't want to be afraid of you. Just... show me. Show me that I can trust you.' I reached for the blanket, removing it from his shoulder and dangling it in front of his head. 'Probably can't see this, but it's the blanket you... left with me,' I continued, my voice cracking in an out of whisper. 'I-If you can understand this... if you're not gonna hurt me just... uh, just throw it out onto the floor out there or something. That's simple enough... right?' I placed it back onto him. 'I don't know...' My head flicked over my shoulder to check the curtains again. 'Listen I-I gotta go. See you in a bit.' I snorted silently, berating myself for having used that particular phrase; would I see him at all? If I did, I hoped it'd be under friendly circumstances.

I made my way to the drapings in a silent rush. My eyes squinted shut, breathing numbers to myself in a countdown as my hand rose to touch the fabric. Two, one, zero. I parted the cloth with my fingers to peer onto the stage. To my great relief, all three animatronics were accounted for, staring blankly as was their custom. Another sigh; it was probably before midnight, then. I stepped out and down from Pirate's Cove, forever holding my vision upon the stage. Turning my spine against the hallway, I prepared to backpedal toward the office, looking a final time to the curtains and the now-hidden fox. 'Thanks again,' I murmured shakily before shuffling down the corridor.

Once inside, I immediately shut the doors, collapsing at my desk with relief. The shift had just started, but I had yet to begin the real trial. I looked at my watch, at last able to read it. 11:48. Good God, almost a half hour. A shudder went through my body as I realized just how close I had come to being torn apart, or worse. Flicking the monitor awake, the stage camera fizzled into view. So how was it going to be, then? Would I have to deal with the torture of losing power again? Would Foxy come to my rescue as he had before? Or would I be left to fend for myself, the next hours as the final in my life? I turned the view to Pirate's Cove, figuring it prudent to watch for any change in behavior. There was still the possibility of me just being nuts, but it didn't feel that way. It felt like something would be different. All I knew for sure, though, was that my fourth night had begun.


	10. VIII

***- Sorry for the late upload, a lot of a shit was just dumped on me IRL. I might have to push this back to being once every two weeks to get things back under control, but I'll try and have next week's on time.**

**\- So, we're approaching a point where nothing new in terms of setting is going to be happening, and thus this story is about to get very dialogue-heavy. Hope you guys are okay with that, because I actually didn't foresee it coming.**

**\- This is gonna be a pain in the ass to re-pace when I'm done with it lol.**

**\- As always, critique is welcome, via email or whatever. Don't have a lot of readers, so feedback is nice.***

'So you do understand me.' I stood before the animatronic fox, the light of the restaurant passing through the opening in the curtains to illuminate Pirate's Cove. In my hand I held the blanket, having just before found it tossed onto a nearby table. I toyed with the object, observing it in its odd meaning. 'You understand me, and you're not going to hurt me, so then why not come to the office? Do you think you'd scare me?' my voice continued as I eyed his muzzle. 'What does it mean, Foxy? Why aren't you like the others?'

The shift had been peaceful. The three had stalked the corridors as was their custom, but at no point had the power failed or even flickered. I had received a voicemail once more, this time a recording of what I could only interpret to be the man's frightful end – pounding on the door, the same jingle I had heard, screaming... It had given me chills, but upon checking backstage I had found no indication of there ever having been a body in any of the suits. Over the course of the night the echoic laughing had returned – Freddy's horrible giggle – but I had tried not to worry, and all things went rather smoothly even with my tattered nerves. When six A.M. had arrived I hadn't waited nearly as long as previously to move out and check on things, and quickly spotted the blanket. I had missed seeing him toss it outside.

I repeated the conclusion to myself in a sort of incantation. Alive, or at least sentient. He could hear, and he had understood me. I placed the blanket back atop his shoulder, enlightenment crisscrossing my mind. Disbelief clung to its void only to be quickly replaced by the fond feeling of desire that had kept me still through the night; I wasn't about to be scared off, now. But what did it mean, then – life in him? Foxy had probably been just as alive when I was young, when I was so blissfully unaware. I remembered his eyes – his fake irises as warm and full of spirit as the yellow of dawn, darting to me in the crowd. I remembered the special ways in which he had treated me, the attention he had given me, and the smiles he would gleam when I participated in his games. I had always remembered those things, and I had always passed them off as childish delusions. But I had been wrong.

'You're my friend. You remember me, don't you. So then you know why I want to see you,' I smiled. 'I'll be here tomorrow, too, you know,' I spoke, backing out of the Cove, 'so come on by. I won't be afraid, I think. At least not of you.' Looking into his slouched visage, I realized I had never actually encountered him in the dark and wondered if that statement would hold true when I did. 'Least long as I'm not wrong about this,' I chuckled nervously, heading off.

The weekend arrived to me with the humid glow of an afternoon sun. In bed I watched the dull rays pass over to me in what would have been an annoyance had I not been awake and thinking for hours. Friday had been active but uneventful; to my sincere confusion Foxy had not so much as taken a step outside his place of dwelling – I would know if he had, having spent most of the night anxiously peering at the monitor. I wasn't sure what I continued to want so badly, but the idea of him, and perhaps the others, being more than just simple machines was intoxicating. Maybe that was what had been playing on my mind the entire week, what had kept me going. But Foxy had done nothing, and aside from the highly-disturbing, utterly incomprehensible voice message that I had received at midnight (full of low, swift garble and lasting only a minute, after which I was left more uneasy than ever before) the shift had turned into a monotonous drag.

I had grown angry, or at the very least frustrated. There he was – the answer to all of my questions and the root of all of my desires – and yet he had failed to respond. He had refused to even peak out to check on me, and so when I had eventually went to do so of him I was growing upset. Foxy had remained in his dormant sag all through the night, the blanket having not been budged, and having known very well that he had heard me prior, I had thrown into rage. Certainly not the best of all of solutions – especially if he could feel or the like – but I hadn't been able to help myself.

After I had calmed down enough to grow regret, I had gone to apologize, understanding that I would receive no response. It was clear to me that it was to be on his own terms if he ever did react, and so had patted him in reassurance, wondering on the weekend and my next step, and quickly remembering the documents in the office below. It hadn't been a rash decision, and I found it hard to morally justify, but it was also the one source of information I hadn't looked into yet – the past employees. Everything private was laid bare on those papers, and as I had went to sift through them my mind had gone to the consequences if caught. But it had been Saturday morning, the restaurant closed, and so I had continued onward.

So many names were of third-shift, the vast majority of them only written as employed for a day or two. I had worked slowly through them, often questioning whether or not the words even stood for the living anymore. What had stuck to me the most, though, was that there were more than a few gaps spanning the timeline, one of which happened to be right before the date I had started; there was no one listed as having worked directly before me, the most recent, previous employee having left a little over a week prior.

Arriving on my own contract, I had went to examine it in-full. Sure enough, the details were there, displaying their gruesome, nonchalant clauses of death and bodily harm to anyone willing to read. Finishing my task briefly after, and having copied down the numbers and associated names for later investigation, I had went home to rest.

With a half-yawn, half-sigh I rose to sit, uncovering myself from my uncomfortably-warm sheets. My thoughts were lost on the weekend and of Foxy. After having sang victory over my own, internal issues I was to be faced by something I couldn't control at all. It seemed simple, looking back, that I had tried to justify what I had faced with doubting my senses. But Foxy was real, he was alive, and so why after having come so far was I now confronted with silence? I deserved more than that, I needed more than that, and I would have to figure out his behavior if I was going to earn it.

I dressed, went through my routine, noted my father as being missing, and then went to sit by the phone, carefully sipping at my fuming coffee. I hated talking on the phone; it was always so awkward – informal in its requirement of distance and lack of visual yet entirely formal in its social practice. Looking at the lazily-scrawled notes on my parchment, I figured there to be at least a few hours worth of telecommunication, which would be more than enough to drive me mad. Ah well, it was my best shot. I picked up the handset and entered in the first number, figuring to start with the most recent one.

He didn't answer and neither did many others, their phones either ringing out or being disconnected as a whole. I went through the listings, quickly growing cognizant of the reality of my task and the reactions I could expect from those who picked up; most of them immediately hung up, but a few stuck around long enough to assault me with all sorts of colorful slurs.

Within a half hour I had cleared the majority of the list, and, growing increasingly dismayed, made my way out to the porch for a smoke. Of course it couldn't be that simple; nothing else had ever been. I could always lie to try for answers, but I figured that to be a fleeting possibility at best. My headache strong, I tried my best to find a reasonable solution but at last returned inside in defeat. I was just going to have to see what could be done, and, if anything, I could always try another day those who hadn't answered.

A few calls later, I reached the final name on my list and the very first one for the shift on record. My gut was aching with tension and annoyance, the results having been a mockery of my endeavor. Why was it that no one – not a single soul – had even so much as humored conversation with me? Had their experiences really been that awful? Probably – any normal guy would break into crying their very first night there. I sighed, picking the receiver up again, listening as the ringing echoed, echoed, and then parted ways.

''Ello,' the soft-pitched voice muttered. I asked whom he was and then announced myself.

'So, uh, I was wondering if I could ask you some questions about Freddy Faz-'

'No!' the voice pierced my ear, now anything but soft. 'No, fuck no! Fuck that place, and fuck its haunted psychos! Stay the fuck aw-' the rant was cut short by the dial tone. I chuckled a bit; as rude as the others.

'Haunted.' Perhaps it shouldn't have, but the word rang throughout my head. None of the others whom I had spoken with had ever said anything as mysterious as that. Were they haunted? The man had surely been referring to the animatronics when he had said 'psychos,' so was he then just exasperated, or did the word have actual merit to it? I wasn't one for the supernatural, even with all of my escapist tendencies; I had never once considered the possibility of the animatronics being possessed or demons or the like. Plus, why would a ghost want to help me? The whole 'stalk and scare' routine would've made sense given the three others, but Foxy saving me destroyed that theory. I remained in my seat, contemplating the events at the other location and if it somehow tied into everything; but there was no proof, and if Foxy wasn't willing to respond I had to find out another way.

My hands tapped on the steering wheel, my body flying down the highway to music and my own atrocious humming. It was going to be a long drive – the man didn't live anywhere near the city. I didn't even know why I was so determined. I mean, sure, there was my wonderlust in Foxy, but it was the weekend, and after what seemed like years of stress and nightmares I ought to have had been relaxing, not traveling out to harass some poor S.O.B. who wanted nothing to do with me. Maybe my subconscious had taken over, then, to push me for answers that'd help me understand my strange obsession. Either way, I couldn't escape the addiction.

It was a warm feeling, knowing that he was conscious, at least – that the one who had sheltered me was not some mindless beast. I was no longer as afraid of Freddy and the others as I had once been, picturing it all. That was probably in part due to my perceived safety in Foxy, but it was also possible that I was simply growing accustomed to everything. I remembered myself watching the three through the cameras in the few times they had managed to draw my attention from Pirate's Cove; in the first half of the week I had only been able to stomach glimpses, but on Friday I had taken a closer look, watching them spasm and stare. That was something new, too – the fidgeting. They hadn't dared move while observed until the latter half of the week. Maybe there was something more to the other animatronics, as well.

The actual restaurant had started acting strange, if I could even attribute action to it. It might have had been occurring for awhile (as my camera had so often been focused on Foxy), but because of my old fright of the others I hadn't noticed it until my last shift. Things sometimes changed; the drawings on the walls, the posters, hell even the walls themselves started to show certain differences from their normal states. While I drove, it was hard to recall what exactly was out-of-place that night (which only added to the tingling doubt of sanity), but I somehow knew it had all been real, and moreover that I had once known what those differences were.

I shook my head mid-song. Regardless of it all, Foxy was alive, and that fact was to remain forefront on my mind. Maybe all of the animatronics were, whatever that meant. I was just excited to have an old friend back, even if he was an inanimate mute.

I stood afront the man's door, nervously hovering my knuckles in preparation for a knock. The apartment complex reminded me of my old home; it was rather plain and not well-maintained, but it was secluded enough from the busy world to give me at least some peace of mind as I contemplated my confrontation. With an inhale, I moved to rap my fist on the wood. The door shortly opened, a fair, brown-haired head appearing through the space the chain lock allotted.

I stared at him in unease. 'Hi! Uh, are you Mr. Fitzgerald?'

'Oh no,' he grimaced. He recognized my voice. 'Not you,' Fitzgerald sounded, beginning to shut the entrance. My hand went to catch it without thinking. 'Move!' What was I doing? I had to say something – anything. His face disappeared from the passage, the force of his shoulders fighting my hand.

'I know they're alive!' I spat out, quickly regretting the shout with a glance around. The pressure pushing against me dissipated, my hand lurching the chain taut.

'Say that again?' the man's voice muttered through the wood. I burned a hole into it with my eyes, unwilling to let my confidence fade.

'I know they're alive.' A loud sigh came from inside and the face reappeared, my hand retreating cautiously to my torso.

'And why's that?' he asked, his tone matching my own nerves.

'I-it's a long story, uh. Well, uh-'

'Look, whatever it is, it doesn't matter,' Fitzgerald spoke, turning surprisingly empathetic. 'If you know what's good for you, you'd get outta there and not look back. That place is a hell-hole.'

'But why?' I pressed. He lowered his face with another utterance of dismay.

'Fuck, ugh, come in...' I heard the sound of the chain being released as the man opened the door and stepped to the side. Was it really going to be that easy? I hadn't expected to get anything out of him. I took my paces inside and he shut the door behind us. 'Last thing I need is the neighbors thinking I'm nuts. 'They're alive!'' he mocked. ''They're controlling Bush!' Ugh...'

My eyes averted, a nervous chuckle giving response. Walking to where the home proper opened up I took in the living room – a quaint, modest arrangement of sorts. Fitzgerald stepped up to and past me, moving to the right and into the kitchen.

'Suppose I should offer you a drink or somethin',' he spoke seemingly more to himself than me, clanking glass against particle board as he rummaged through cabinets.

'I'm good,' I waved off.

'What happened to your head, anyway?' he asked while at work.

'Oh, uh... nothing, really.'

'Uh huh.' I listened as he continued about, eventually pouring something into a mug and then moving back to me.

'Well? Sit down.' I did as instructed, doing my best to remove my anxiety by means of the couch. My eyes wandered as he took a sip of what I presumed to be coffee. 'So?'

I couldn't even remember what I had wanted to ask. 'Uh... well...' I paced my fingers on my knee, attempting to bring to mind a somehow-normal intro to whatever story I had to tell, even if the circumstances were decidedly not-normal.

'Alright, well, how about this. How'd you find me, anyway?' Fitzgerald asked in between sips.

My face contorted into a question. 'You never saw how they just leave everything around? Uh... the records and stuff?'

'Far as I know, no,' he shrugged. 'You mean they just leave that crap out for anyone to see? Hah... typical.'

'Yeah, in the office downstairs.'

'Aw, yeah,' he nodded. 'Never really went down there except for, y'know. No reason to. Christ...' he snorted.

'Yeah... It's- it's pretty stupid...'

'Well's not the only thing stupid I'm sure you figured out. Look, how's this? In exchange for whatever we're doin' here,' he pointed at me, 'take care of whatever file they got on me. I don't need no one coming and riling things up. I'd rather just forget the whole fuckin' place...'

'Yeah... yeah, uh, sorry.'

'Whatever, man,' Fitzgerald threw up his arm. 'Let's just get this over with, 'kay?'

'Uh, yeah. So... uh... What uh- what uh... how... what did you mean by 'haunted'?' I managed.

'Well isn't it obvious?' he nearly shouted. 'You said they're alive. You know what those things are!'

'I, uh... I don't, really,' I encouraged.

'Christ...' He brought his palm to his head. 'Look, I told you – get out,' he commanded, his eyes locking with my own. 'How long have you been workin' there anyway?'

'Uh, a week.'

He laughed. 'You're telling me you made it through the whole damn week? Well shit,' he shook his head in jest, 'you're on your way to becomin' employee of the month, or year for that matter,' the man finished, continuing his jolliness. I figured to let him refocus before responding.

'Does no one really stay?' I continued.

His expression turned dumbfounded. 'What do you think!' he boomed in condescension. 'Most get the fuck out, just like I said!'

'I just,' I stammered, 'uh... then how can you know?'

His vehemence faded. 'Uh... well, I worked at the same place you did – er, do – except, uh, I was also at the restaurant before it.'

'Wait you mean the one those kids disappeared at, and that bite or whatever?'

'Oh, you know about that, huh?' he softly nodded. 'Even more reason why you shouldn't be there, then. How'd you find out, anyway? Someone tell you?'

'Nah, I just went through some newspapers and shit,' I rubbed my neck. 'I mean, the guy on the phone – uh... dunno if you know about that – he- he was the one who kinda got me interested in this whole thing. I actually don't know I'd've stayed without those calls,' I chuckled to myself.

Fitzgerald was silent for a bit. 'Aw, yeah, him,' his voice turning soft. 'Was a cool dude. Was one of my bosses... trained me.'

'Huh,' I nodded, 'Yeah he, uh... so you heard the recordings?' I hoped not, even if it would mean some answers.

'Yeah... He's dead.'

I sighed, my own tone become subdued. 'So that's... real then...'

'Are you just nuts or somethin'?' he broke the mood.

'What?'

'Honestly, man, no shit it's real,' he said, bewildered.

'Sorry, I- I mean... it's just a bit much, just everything. I mean, how do they even... th-the bodies. If those things kill people – stuff 'em into suits or whatever – I mean don't people find out?' I asked.

'Sure they do, someone does. Don't know who or how or... whatever, but eventually the place is cleaned up, good as new, just like contract says,' he grinned, chuckling a little. 'Never could figure out how the place wasn't shut down, but guess so long as it's not more kids, people don't care.'

'I just don't get it,' I confessed, stretching into a more comfortable position and looking to the ceiling.

'Me neither, but I didn't care enough to stick around and find out, you dimwit. So why?'

'Why what, stick around?' my gaze returning to his intense eyes.

'Yeah,' he mocked me. I remained silent, looking to and fro as I thought of how to respond. At last I started.

'I mean it's gonna sound crazy-'

'Shit, all of it's crazy,' he waved.

'Suppose so,' I paused. 'Well, uh... Foxy, he, uh-'

'Ohhh, fuck,' he interrupted, his tone turning dismal.

'What?' I queried innocently.

'What, did it talk to you?' he patronized. 'Tell you about how awful it is being him? Heh, maybe it even protected you from one of the others. What a joke...'

'Wait, so he can talk...' I murmured, feeling at once excited.

'You gotta be kiddin' me, I tell you all that and that's,' Fitzgerald pointed, 'what you focus on? That thing's a monster a hundred times worse than the others – you don't understand. At least Freddy and his creeps – at least they don't toy with you before they kill you,' he pressed to me.

'Wait, what- what are you talking about?' I pleaded, my torso moving to crouch forward to illustrate. 'Foxy protected me-'

'Like hell he did!' the man broke into scream, his eyes alit. 'That thing – that fucking monster,' his teeth gritted, 'it killed my friend... it killed my friend... he was so stupid.' Fitzgerald was shaking his head, his fluster pausing. 'I don't understand why he did it,' the man continued after calming, 'He just – he thought he could somehow reason with it, talk to it, whatever... He always told me about the conversations they'd have and blah, blah about how the thing thought it had a soul and all that. He thought he could become friends with it. Told me sometimes about how it was 'alive' – how it had saved him... just like you.' Silence took the room as the man finished, my eyes watching his own grow solemn and drift to the floor. I didn't know what to say, but had to know more.

'So... what happened?' my voice broke the air to sooth. Fitzgerald sighed and continued his pause.

'Mike... Mike, he- he was a coworker, and I trained him,' he began at last, his tone lost. 'Told him what to do, what not to do... he was the one who told me about those calls you got, showed 'em to me. I had switched to day shift to fill in and in the meantime that guy you heard on the phone took over, and then disappeared. At first I'd thought he'd just quit, but... Well anyway, Mike came on and took over – and I sure didn't want to switch back – and me and him got off. Apparently he'd been a big fan of that thing – uh, Foxy – when he was a kid an-'

'Me too,' I encouraged.

'Ah,' he looked to me in reply and then lowered his eyes once more. 'Yeah. So. Anyway... he didn't listen when I told him not to get friendly. Told me one day that those things had got him and that Foxy'd saved him or whatever... Started telling me about how they were all buddy-buddy and talked to each other, how it didn't want to hurt anyone and I could trust it and all that,' he sighed. 'Thought he was crazy, but I think he's right – that animatronic was alive, or somethin'. They all were.' So that was why he had let me in to begin with – I resembled his old friend. Fitzgerald and I waited in silence.

'But one day,' he continued, 'I came in and... and it was like... it was like nothing else.' He leaned forward, his eyes glaring at me. 'I didn't think at that point that those things could even kill people,' he pleaded to me. 'I mean, I heard the voicemails, but I just thought they were a last-minute prank... But... months of working at the other restaurant, and then there... I-I was always told it was just some weird programming – that they weren't actually dangerous. But I should have known...' his voice wavered.

'Ugh,' he sighed before laughing, 'you know apparently they're supposed to stuff you into a suit or whatever? I mean that's how you die if they get you, or at least that's what the message said...' he paused. 'But I found him – Mike – laying in the middle of the room... just... he was cut open all over, just a mess.' Fitzgerald's face became a painful smirk. 'I can't get it outta my head... That fucking piece of shit was just standing over him... staring... and I swear to God when I walked in it looked up and said something. Don't remember it. Just remember those... eyes... just black.' The man went silent, and I watched him as he regained himself. 'Of course I'd seen the others with those eyes too, but not Foxy, never that one. I always thought it was just a glitch, or my head or something, but it's not...'

'Yeah I've seen them too. From the others, I mean.'

'Look,' his head raised, 'I don't doubt its able to talk or whatever but-'

'He hasn't talked to me yet,' I assured, 'he hasn't even tried to interact with me... aside from saving me.'

'Well good,' he said, 'that's good. You just... you can't do what Mike did. Just don't. Don't fall under their spell. There's something wrong with that place – between the kids, and the accident, and how those things act...'

'Is that what you meant by 'haunted'?'

'Yeah... I mean, I don't actually know. Just something off about it all, like demons, or something...' he sighed.

'Do you have any ideas, though?' I pleaded.

'Just...' he shook his head, 'you know how places where murders and shit happen are said to be haunted? I guess it's like that. Maybe something to do with those kids.'

We both sat there for some time in silence. Was he right? Having seen what I had, it wouldn't have been the strangest thing in the world, and if such could actually be true – if there was some sort of ethereal existence beyond our own – then that'd sure be a good reason for why the animatronics seemed alive... if they were possessed or something.

'How come you didn't get the cops when you found him?' I asked at length.

'I coulda, but you don't understand,' he looked to me. 'It's hard to see something like that and think straight. I was terrified, still am. And what am I gonna say, anyway? That a fucking robot had killed him? There weren't any witnesses. And I just wanted to forget about it.'

'Well I suppose that's what the gaps meant...' I uttered to myself.

'What?'

'Uh, just these gaps in the records... periods of time where it didn't have anyone listed as working third... I didn't see your friend, either,' I replied empathetically.

'Ah, yeah... well makes sense they'd do that.'

'I'm sorry,' I tried to console.

He sighed once again, his face regaining some of its color. 'Just do me a favor and don't do what he did. In fact don't even go back – it's dangerous enough, even without that one.' I nodded, growing quiet.

'Why did you stay though?' I emphasized shortly. 'I mean you knew the dangers, yet you worked there for months.'

'Well, I didn't. I mean not to that extent,' he said. 'I didn't know that people had been killed there... I mean, besides the kids and all that. But I was good at my job, was in a tough spot, and,' he chuckled, 'I seemed to be one of the few who could actually handle the scares. The place before yours was a different setup, had no doors or anything an-'

'What, really?' I didn't want to even imagine it.

'Yeah, crazy, huh?' he continued chuckling. 'And then there were these 'toy' animatronics too – bit creepier than the original ones you've got. One of the toy's was what killed that kid,' he shook his head. 'I mean I don't even wanna think about how many people have gotten hurt at these chains and shit... just doesn't make sense.'

I nodded. 'Do you know anything about that whole deal?'

'Just what I heard, really,' he replied, shrugging. 'It was when all that crap with the police and shit was going on. It was gonna be the last day open for awhile after news broke about that freak kidnapping the kids... We had this birthday party scheduled, and apparently one of the animatronics took a huge chunk off a kid's head. Don't know which one it was, and all of 'em were scrapped... They said it was because the kid put their head in this thing's mouth and somethin' about faulty mechanics or whatever... I mean I didn't really care too much – accidents happen. Though now I'm starting to wonder if it really was an accident.' He went to silence for a moment. 'You know what I don't get, though? Is how brand-spanking-new animatronics like those can act out just the same as the olders. I mean, I'm sure they woulda killed me too given the chance... There's something seriously wrong with Freddy's and everything associated with it,' he scoffed, finishing his coffee.

'What about the kids – the ones that were taken?'

'Never really found 'em,' he conceded. 'Whatever you read is probably what I know. I mean I knew the guy somewhat – can't recall his name, though. Quiet guy, unassuming and all that. Real serial killer type, now that I think about it. From what I heard, he used one of the suits to lure them away. Kids thought he was one of the animatronics, poor souls.'

'Do you know if he was sentenced?' Maybe he had some role in all the weirdness.

'Oh yeah. Heard he got life a few times over – wouldn't give up the bodies. Piece of shit.'

I looked at him, then the ceiling, and then back. The information was certainly a great help, but I didn't know what else there was to ask, and right then and there it was a bit difficult to sift through all of it. 'Well,' I decided upon, 'you've given me a whole helluva lotta think about. I really appreciate it, Mr. Fitzgerald.'

He chuckled. 'Christ, man, I'm barely older than you. Jeremy's fine.'

'Well, thanks, Jeremy,' I nodded and he rose, myself following his lead to the door. He paused as he opened it.

'Get out of there. It's what's best. Just... leave and pretend that place never existed. It's what I do, it's what you should do,' the man motioned at me.

'Yeah... I know,' I replied, stepping outside.

'And, look, nothing personal,' he spoke as I turned to him, 'but, well, I'd prefer it if we didn't meet again. Like I said, I'm trying to forget it all.'

I smiled, nodding. 'Yeah, no problem. Sorry, and thanks again.'

'Yep. Good luck,' he shut the door. 'Oh and don't forget to rip up my shit!'


	11. Update

Hey everyone (or those that actually read this). So, it's been a long, long time since an update and I wanted to explain away some of the wonder that might have accompanied that lapse in uploads.

Something major and personal happened in my life suddenly that caused me to no longer be able to write nor have the will to write. I thought it would have resolved by now, but it hasn't, and every day I'm being eaten away from guilt out of abandoning this.

I originally intended to stay as distant as I possibly could from my readers and let the writing speak for itself, but I figured I'd give you guys at least something to work with, if you've been patient this long.

**I will finish this story**. I cannot say how long it will take or how long it will be until I resume uploading, but I will do it. I've never dropped a fleshed-out work in my life and I'm not starting now. Hopefully once I _am_ able to start again it will be regular, but I make no guarantees.

Once finished, I'll be rewriting major portions of this as well as possibly penning a version in second-person format for the 'reader x character' fanfictions that seem oh-so-popular. I want this to be a piece that lasts and shines above all the others for fans of FNAF to come that feel the same.. draw toward Foxy as I do.

But that's down the line. Right now I'll just be focusing on myself, as well as reminding myself why I've never done (and will never again do) serial fiction.

Hope to (proverbially) see you all soon. This placeholder will be removed once I finish part nine.

EDIT: Oh, and I DO read all the reviews and comments and appreciate all of it very much. If you ever want to talk to me directly, please email me (the address is in my profile) as I don't want to clutter up the review section and turn it into a shoutbox.

That said, for the person who noted the title being uneqiviocally boring - believe me, I know. That's one of the things I'll be fixing upon completion (as I do not right now feel it is anywhere near the quality of anything *but* 'another foxy romance story').


	12. Update 2

Hi.

I don't know if anyone will be reading this, but I wanted to at least give something of an update.

Have I stopped writing this story? Temporarily, yes. I can't say how long it will be until I pick it back up, but as soon as I'm able to concentrate or writing (read: not concentrate on being able to not be homeless), it will be the very first thing for me to do. I still love Foxy, and I still love the FNAF universe, and even if the fandom and games completely die out I will come back and finish it.

I shouldn't blame it _all_ on my inability to write, however. Truthfully, the lack of audience this story garnered did hit me a bit. I say, 'a bit,' because while this is true I do primarily write for my own pleasure, but still... seeing other, uh, less-refined works get thousands if not hundreds of thousands of hits does, well, hit me a bit. And, well, I suppose that's partly my own fault - I was well aware that my style of writing was unfit for this sort of medium.

Not to say that the writing here is the greatest. It's really not. I learnt a lot from starting this, and reading back on it there are a great many things I'd change. In fact, when I do start on it again I will be rewriting it from the whole. Don't worry, I won't remove the core of what the story is, but I just feel that it could have been portrayed in a much more elegant way.

That said, I also wrote this story pre-FNAF 4 in what everyone was relatively confident was the lore of the universe. I tried writing within the rules of Scott's world, but really this is an impossible task, as the very fundamentals of the story are so blatantly illogical that it can only exist in nonsensical chunks (such as he provides) or in parody. This may not make a lot of sense to you, but believe me I spent countless hours trying to work out every possible way to make it work, and it won't. For that matter, neither does The Silver Eyes. It was honestly quite a gut-punch when FNAF 4 through everything on its head, and Sister Location has only served to continue the pattern in raising more questions than it answers.

Because honestly, how am I supposed to give even a semi-believable explanation for why any form of government hasn't taken a notice in this shit? :P

Anyway, when I do come back to it I'm going to remove the shackles that are FNAF's lore and take a more artistic interpretation of the universe. I think this will allow me much more freedom, and will eventually provide a higher quality narrative.

When will this be? I don't know. Months? Unlikely. In a year? Possibly. But maybe longer.

Just be sure to remember...

I'm still here.


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